Forgive My Sins
by It's-A-Passion
Summary: UNDERGOING EDITS. "A lion lusting after a wolf…Pathetic. If my father knew, he would be ashamed to call me son." Sybel Stark is the effervescent, kind-hearted daughter who knows where her duty and loyalties lay. But those loyalties are tested with the arrival of Jaime Lannister. He's just a man in dire need of forgiveness, but perhaps she is the one to give it to him? JaimeOC.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Enjoy :)**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Prologue_

...

Sybel Stark was regarded by many as the hidden, effervescent jewel of Winterfell.

This had nothing to do with her appearance, though she could be considered rather stunning with her reddish-tinged brown hair, curved frame and steel coloured eyes. No. It had more to do with the fact that she had a warm smile and a genuine concern for anyone she encountered.

And even more to do with the fact that she was innocently oblivious to the way people orbited her, were drawn to her, and that _un-pinpoint-able_ quality she held. A mix of soft cheerfulness, open amiability and a compassionate nature that was endearing.

So it was no surprise that, as soon as she stepped out into the frosty air, she had people clamoring to take the opportunity to speak with her. They were all rushing to finish the last few preparations for the arrival of the King in the next half hour. When she was spotted, despite the urgency with which her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark of Winterfell, had given instructions, they still went to speak with her.

She didn't realize the awkward smile Joseth, the burly stableman, gave her was _awkward_ because it was so rare that he smiled at anyone. She didn't realize that the young, pregnant kitchen-hand, Janna, who had spent the morning scavenging for some flowers to brighten Sybel's room, didn't mind because she knew Sybel's reaction would be to _gush_ at how thoughtful and sweet it was of her.

She didn't realize that the cheery grins and exchange of laughs between her and a few of the guardsmen were usually followed by talk of what it would be like for her to warm their beds.

She was oblivious and affable.

Her black direwolf pup, aptly named – if she did say so herself – Inferno, for the way the pup was wild and near-uncontrollable, quick to bare her teeth and attack anyone who came too close to her master, followed closely behind Sybel. The white strip along the length of her snout flashed silver as her gangly legs trotted along beside her owner. Inferno was only a pup, and yet her back already reached to Sybel's thigh. So far, she was the largest of the pups, seeming to grow visibly bigger with each passing day.

She spotted two of her brothers, Robb and Jon, and her father's ward, Theon Greyjoy, walking across the yard, and she hurried after them. All three of them were handsome; Robb, with auburn hair and a keen sense of honour and justice, Jon with near-black eyes and a solemn, guarded face, and Theon, with dark brown hair and an arrogant, cocky attitude.

White puffs of air formed in front of her face as she breathed the sharp Winterfell air in and out, shivering slightly. She wrapped her red coat trimmed in grey fur more firmly around herself, but the cold wasn't a shock. She was used to the bite in the icy air, and the way the land seemed to be permeated with a grey light, regardless of whether the sun was hidden or not.

She fell into step in between her brothers, glancing at them as they glanced at her. She smiled suddenly as she noticed they'd been shaved and sheared for the King's arrival – probably against their wishes. It wasn't uncommon for Northernmen to have longer hair and beards, giving them a wilder look that went with their lands; untamed and dangerous. Though, it had more practical advantages. Keeping warm, for one. Less hassle, for another. The lack of beard highlighted Robb's prominent jaw.

"Who would have known my brothers were even _remotely_ handsome under all that…" Sybel gestured at their newly shaven faces where their beards had been. Then she laughed, finding the word she wanted, "_Scruff_."

The people of Winterfell were moving to congregate in the courtyard to meet the King's arrival, and that was where her feet were taking her. She laughed again when Jon scowled, dancing her fingers lightly on his smooth cheek. Jon had a mop of curly black hair which, according to Robb, he loved more than any girl he'd met. And right then, it was cropped shorter than he'd ever had it before, his expression somewhat dismal.

"Oh, don't worry Jon, it _will_ grow back." Sybel's own hair was pulled back in the typical northern fashion; the sides pinned back, the rest tumbling messily down her back in thick, dark copper waves. She had pinned a small red flower behind her ear, one of the ones Janna had picked to brighten her room, to go with her pale red dress and coat. It all matched with her reddish-brown hair, and served to make the pale ivory of her skin and the cool grey of her eyes stand out.

"I hear the Prince is a golden haired little prick," Theon taunted her, an overconfident, brash smirk pulling his lips as he teased her in the way her brothers teased her. Most girls were anxious for the arrival of the young Prince, at nearly fourteen namedays, and he assumed she was just as excited as the rest of them.

Sybel snorted a laugh. Her response wasn't a surprise, as she spent most of her time laughing – a pleasant tinkling sound that was neither forced nor high-pitched. "If you are so desperate to gossip about the Prince, Theon, then maybe you should seek out Sansa. I have no interest in _boys_."

They chortled at _her_ then.

"'Boys'?" Robb mimicked. "Your taste runs more towards _men_, then?"

Sybel scrunched her nose at him, her cheeks pinkening as she shoved him lightly, "Shut up, Robb."

He made to shove her back playfully, but was interrupted by a vicious growl as Inferno darted forward, tackling Robb to the ground. Her jowls smacked dangerously close to his face, her claws digging through the thick material of his coat to scrape his skin as she stood on his chest.

"Inferno!" Sybel demanded, reaching forward to wrap her arms around the direwolf's neck and bodily yank her off Robb. Jon and Theon didn't move to help, knowing the wolf's temperament – they would be more of a hindrance, more targets that Inferno would try to attack. If Inferno listened to anyone, it was Sybel. But even then, Sybel found it difficult to completely tame the animal. She tried to make her voice a warning. "Inferno! _No_!"

There was a low whine, and Inferno let Sybel pull her off Robb's chest. The pup continued to watch Robb though, ready to make a move, should he attempt another attack on Sybel. Jon helped Robb to his feet, and he brushed himself off, "You need to learn to control her."

Mostly, Sybel thought the pup was all growl and no bite – she had never actually bitten anyone seriously; she was just fierce and protective. Sybel shook her head ruefully, smoothing the fur of Inferno's face back and holding her head so she was forced to look Sybel in the eyes. "_Stay_."

Inferno sat on her haunches and remained there as the four walked away. Sybel lifted her chin pointedly at her older brother, saying in a lofty voice, "Perhaps _you_ should not have tried to attack me."

He grinned, glancing behind him swiftly to find Inferno had wandered off, before moving to try to shove her again. She darted away from him quickly, moving to the other side of Theon, who was walking beside Robb, putting the most distance between them as she could. "You're the one who made us tease you, saying you have no interest in _boys_. What do you want with a man?"

They laughed at her again, and Theon leaned down to say in her ear, his voice low so as not to carry to her brothers, and resonating with a hint of suggestion, "Do you want yourself a _man_, to show you how to fuck?"

Her eyes flashed up to his in surprise, though she supposed she shouldn't be – she had heard him talk with Robb about his conquests with Ros and the other women at the brothel, in great _detail_. He found it fun to taunt her, and his sense of humour was sometimes a bit cruel, but Sybel knew he was harmless. He just liked to get a reaction. Knowing that, she still couldn't stop her blush.

Theon grinned pointedly, smug at the red colouring Sybel's cheeks. The way she puckered her lips slightly in indignant embarrassment had him imagining what those lips would look like wrapped around his cock. Theon was not the only man to notice how her body had curved into that of a woman's, and he considered paying a visit to Ros to sate the thoughts Sybel provoked.

She was a proper noblewoman, and was therefore meant to be unexposed to the foul language of men. If her mother or father had been present then, Theon would be reprimanded for speaking in such a way in front of her, and _to_ her for that matter. But Sybel would not tattle on him, he knew, ever one for keeping the peace in her home, and so he found his tongue far more liberal around her than it should be. It gave him a debauched sense of excitement to watch her blush when he said words like _fuck_ and _cock_.

It reminded him of her innocence. And he doubted there was a man who would not want to bed a virgin.

He spoke again, just as low as before, for he was not stupid enough to test her brothers' limits when it came to their sister. Particularly Sybel, who was both considered a woman and unaware of what that _really_ meant to the men around her. "Or do you mean to say it's _girls_ who get you excited?"

The flush crept down her neck to disappear under her dress at his implications, and she regained her composure. She tried for a lofty voice again, attempting to tease him back, as if she was unaffected by the way he spoke so calmly of such things and thought him rather crude. Unfortunately, she lacked the conviction needed to deliver a scathing remark or mocking statement well, and it came out sounding more self-conscious and mortified than the pretend, haughty-superior voice she was trying for. "Watch your tongue, Theon. If it keeps flapping about like that, one day someone will take it upon themselves to do us all a favour and cut it out."

His grin widened as she skipped away from him to the other end of their line, beside Jon. Her brothers eyed Theon suspiciously, wondering what he'd said to her to make her say that. Then Jon and Robb looked at each other, seeming to be thinking much the same thing, before Jon looked to Sybel and gave her a smile that spelled more mocking for her. When her brother wanted, they could sure tease her like they would never get the chance to again.

"We've seen you looking at the captain of the guard." Jon began.

"Is Jory _man_ _enough_ for you?" Robb finished.

As Sybel spluttered, embarrassed at having been caught – for he surely spoke the truth, and her attempts at denial would be useless, considering her poor ability to lie – Jon's usually more somber face cracked into an even wider smile. He laughed softly at the way his sister brought their teasing on herself, quite by accident. They all knew she had been commenting on the fact that the prince was younger than herself, and nothing beyond that.

"Robb!" She cried, swatting his hand away as he reached around Jon to tug playfully on her hair. Of late, Sybel found herself more attracted to older men, than the boys running about Winterfell. She didn't know why, nor could she puzzle it out properly in her head, and for a second, she wondered if it was as Theon had suggested. Was it really the experience a man had that she craved? She blushed harder. "I had only meant that Prince Joffrey is of no interest to me."

"Because he's a _boy_," Robb reminded jokingly.

She grumbled, though she wasn't particularly annoyed. Sybel rarely became livid – she could remain remarkably calm in any situation, and where others would yell angrily at their insulting and taunting, she would just laugh it off.

Jon was usually the one least likely to mock her with the insinuations her poor choice of words could create and usually the first to comfort her when her face became so hot he feared it would catch fire. "We're only teasing you."

She'd much rather hurry away from them, but she knew that would only incur more laughter at her expense. So she jerked her chin up and ignored them as they entered the large courtyard. It was already full of people, and they made their way to the front of the crowd, Jon clearing a path for her to walk through more easily, to where her family would stand.

**So…What did you think?**

**Continue or not?**

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: You guys. **_**You guys**_**. Seriously. I'm so happy this story has gotten such a great reception!**

**I literally jump for joy when I check my emails and find I have a review. That excitement quickly becomes a moment of awful panic where I question my abilities as a storyteller and wonder if the review was about to tear me to pieces. Then I'd click on it, and feel better because EVERY SINGLE ONE of you guys left me a review that was so lovely and supportive! **

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter just as much! :D**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter One_

…

When Sybel heard the sound of horse hooves, she straightened slightly, her hands nervously brushing down the front of her coat. It was an unconscious habit she had; smoothing down her clothing – there was something reassuring about touching the familiar, thick material of her coat or dress. It helped clear her head when she was thinking, or calmed her when she was nervous or anxious.

She didn't know why. It just helped.

Her siblings lined up in order of descending age beside their father – save for baby Rickon, who stood beside their mother on the other side of their father – so Sybel stood between her older brother Robb and younger sister Sansa. Jon was relegated to the row behind them, with Theon, as he wasn't her mother's son and did not get the Stark name. Though, Sybel held him in the same regard she did for her true brothers.

There was a commotion about Arya, the youngest Stark girl, being missing right before she turned up wearing a helmet and causing laughter at her antics.

_There's no taming that child_, Sybel thought, her lips twitching, trying to form a smile on her frozen face, as she watched Arya shove their younger brother Bran out of the way so she could fit between him and Sansa. Her youngest sister _detested_ anything _ladylike_; she was the wild daughter, who would rather be a knight than a lady. She was a complete opposite to their other sister, Sansa, who was delicately beautiful and proper, with flaming red-orange hair and an ability to glide places on a graceful cloud, like the winds had picked her up and carried her there.

Sybel was neither as graceful as Sansa nor as rough as Arya. She couldn't profess to have any interest in wielding a sword – though, she _had_ learnt to use a bow and arrow when she was younger than Arya, but she had long since forgotten how – but sometimes she found being a proper lady to be _exhausting_.

She looked forward to the day when she would wed and bear children, and have the sound of childish giggling and little feet running echo down the halls of her own household to manage; it was her duty as a woman. But it was more than a duty. Sybel _wanted_ to be a mother.

She could picture herself, her babies and children clinging to her and laughing and playing. That was what she looked forward to most. She adored children.

But it was also exhausting just learning to do the things she would one day be expected to do. She didn't know how her mother managed it. A lot of effort went into dressing right, and wearing her hair right, to catch the eye of a potential suitor, and even more into learning to; be graceful, know how to run a household efficiently and manage the people working for her, to be proficient in ladylike tasks, such as needlepoint.

Then there was also the art of speaking – there was a delicate line to tread when speaking to people of power, and causing offence could be disastrous; there were right things and wrong things to say and do to certain people. And Sybel spent nights reading books, for should a man take an interest in her she would rather impress him with her knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms or his trade, than find her head empty of all possible conversation topics. She wanted to be a wife her husband would want to speak with, about everything.

The sound of hooves was getting closer and closer, and she was pulled from her musings. Their visitors poured through the castle gates, a steady stream of shiny steel and horses. At the front were soldiers, then came Prince Joffrey, lean and golden-haired, who took in his surroundings with a uninterested expression. Though, that expression became a smirk when he spotted Sansa, his eyes lingering on her.

Sybel glanced at her younger sister, then at the prince, and back again. They continued to watch each other, and Sybel had to press her lips together to stop from grinning. She subtly nudged Robb, who spotted her poorly-suppressed smile straight away, looking in the direction Sybel nodded her head in. His face remained stoic as he eyed the Prince and their sister.

Then the royal carriage rolled in, followed closely by King Robert Baratheon, who was rather fat, with round cheeks and a bushy beard that tangled with his hair. He was helped off his horse and the courtyard lowered to one knee. The King stomped his way straight to her father, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, before indicating that he could stand up. They all stood up.

"Your Grace," her father said.

"You've got fat," was his reply. They laughed and embraced, old friends. Sybel's eyes roved over the large group, feeling the weight of many stares back at them, too, assessing the Northerners.

The carriage door opened, and the Queen and the two other royal children, Mrycella and Tommen, stepped out. All the royal children were blonde and attractive, just like their yellow-haired mother.

Behind Prince Joffrey was a huge, heavily muscled man, with a gaunt, severely burned face. Sybel thought she could see bone under the blackened, cracked flesh. She inwardly winced, eyes stuck to his scars. She looked away before he noticed her staring, feeling queasy at the kind of pain he must be in.

"Where's the Imp?" Arya wondered, referring to one of the Queen's brothers, who was short and lame, and apparently nowhere near as beautiful as his brother, Jaime.

"_Arya_," Sybel warned, looking around Sansa's form to pin her with a serious stare. "Don't call him that."

"Why not?" She asked, not thinking to lower her voice. She frowned, not understanding, while being stubbornly defensive. "He _is_ an Imp, isn't he?"

"Will you shut up?" Sansa whispered hotly, nervous. "_Why_ do you embarrass me?"

"I don't – !"

"Hush now," Sybel cut in gently, her eyes on the Queen as she approached, before their argument could escalate. Because it could; it often _would_ – Arya and Sansa were just too different to see eye-to-eye. And it would be no good for them to insult the Queen's brother.

"What have we here?" The King asked, walking to stand in front of Robb and extending an arm to him. They shook hands. "You must be Robb."

He moved down the line of children. He said to Sybel, "You have your father's eyes."

"Yes, my King," she replied, curtsying slightly, which caused him to laugh. She wasn't sure why.

And when she looked back up, the King had moved past and she was looking straight at the newly arrived Jaime Lannister, his helmet under his arm as his horse trotted forward towards his twin sister. He was the one they called _Kingslayer_, with hair of gold and wide, well-muscled shoulders. She felt her stomach dip to her toes, and suspected many of the women in the courtyard were experiencing the same thing. He was absurdly attractive – a perfectly balanced mix of beauty with masculine features.

He was just as handsome as they said, she mused to herself.

His face was twisted in an expression of arrogant disdain, taking in the sights of Winterfell and Sybel suddenly felt defensive of her home. She frowned at him, sure that he could love it once he actually _saw_ it. There was a harsh beauty to the North that was only visible if you _let_ yourself see it.

She was still frowning at him when his eyes swept over the Stark family, and she quickly looked away. She felt eyes on her, a prickling sensation over skin that made her uncomfortable, and she looked around to search for the source. Instead she spotted Jory, standing in the row behind her, beside Theon and Jon. He was a rugged man, with the kind of appearance that always left her in the middle of a decision as to whether he was handsome or not.

She smiled warmly at him when he saw her looking, and he winked at her. She flushed and quickly turned her head to face the front again, ever so slightly irked at the way people seemed to like to make her blush. _Perhaps_, she pondered, _it is just too easy to make my skin warm as if I'm standing beside a fire_.

She was most certainly the epitome of a blushing maiden.

Then the King demanded to be taken to the crypts, and her mother was left to finish greeting the visitors herself. The feeling of being watched left her, and the disappearance of the feeling made her remember she had been searching for the owner of those eyes.

She was startled out of her head, when her mother laid a hand on her arm, "Seek out Maester Luwin and make certain he has seen to my last instructions. And have him tell the serving girls to begin to boil water; I assume our guests would like to bathe after such a journey."

"Yes, mother," Sybel nodded and turned to move back through the crowd, not needing Jon's help to forge a path. This time, facing the people, they could see her coming and they parted easily for her, murmuring greetings to her and dropping their heads in a respectful nod to her.

A little girl, no older than three namedays, perched on her mother's hip reached a hand out to touch Sybel's hair as she passed, her small fist curling around the curling tendrils as she looked at the red sheen of them with wonder. Coppery hair wasn't the most common trait in the North – most had hair in varying shades of black, brown and dark blonde.

The mother – Ilia, if Sybel remembered correctly – apologized profusely, attempting to untangle her daughter's tiny hand from the strands. Sybel laughed, waving off her apologies as she smiled at the little girl. She pulled the little red flower out from behind her ear and showed it to the girl. The little girl's eyes watched the flower closely as Sybel gave it to her, tucking it behind her small ear, and she giggled childishly.

Ilia untangled her daughter's fingers and Sybel tickled the girl's neck, making her burst into another round of contagious, childish giggles, before continuing on her way.

* * *

"Lady Sybel," Jory called out from behind her.

Sybel had been walking down the corridor, stuck inside her own head, and at the sound of her name, she jerked around so quickly that she lost her balance. Her heart leapt to her throat as the world shifted in a horribly unsettling way, before she felt a hand wrap around her arm. The world became steady again, and she blinked at the abruptness of the change. Jory leaned his face down so that he was at eye-level with her. "My lady, are you alright?"

He was inspecting her face in a way that made her blush, embarrassed. Robb's words of _is Jory man enough for you _rang in her head, and she wanted to curse her brother for the thought. Her blush spread from her face to her neck and there was nothing she could do about it beside pathetically _will_ it to disappear. Vaguely, she heard Inferno's warning growl over the thrumming of her blood in her ears. "You startled me, is all. _Inferno_."

The growling stopped, and Sybel reached down to entwine the fingers of her right hand through the coarse, thick fur of Inferno's head.

Jory's lips fought a smile. "It was not my intention. I have been searching for you."

"I was otherwise occupied." She turned slightly, hiding her face in an action that made him grin widely. He knew – just like everyone else who had watched the eldest Stark girl grow – that she did that when she wanted to hide something. Lying did not come easy to her, and her expression usually gave her away.

She continued walking down the mostly empty stone corridor, a few torches burning to provide light. It had already grown dark as night set in. The welcoming feast would begin soon.

He fell into step beside her, his hand resting easily on the sword at his hip. He eyed the flash of colour she clutched in her hands, and nodded towards it, "What have you there?"

Her eyes slid sideways to him, her voice dropping low to become a conspirator whisper, as she smiled sweetly, "Promise not to tell Septa Mordane? Or mother?"

"I promise." He said it so quickly and with such adamant knowledge that he would keep her secret, that it caused him to pause. Slowly, he realized that perhaps the eldest Stark daughter had him wrapped a little too tightly around her fingers. He considered that, as if comprehending it for the first time and it came as a shock.

She watched him for a moment, with measuring eyes, weighing up whether or not to tell him, before deciding that she would. She trusted Jory, and it was hardly a massive, scandalous secret she had to take to her grave. She would just prefer her Septa or mother not to know, because she knew they would not be thrilled.

He nodded at her, encouragement to explain, a smile still playing around his lips, though this time it had more to do with the fact that he was only _just_ grasping her ability to make people like her. He did not doubt that if Sybel Stark asked him to do something, he would do it without a second thought.

Sybel smiled brightly then, so suddenly that Jory had to stop himself from flinching slightly. Her eyes widened as she held out her hands in front of them, loosening her fingers to reveal an assortment of blue and white flowers. "I picked some flowers to put in Sansa and Arya's hair, too."

He blinked. Sybel supposed he had not been expecting something so trivial to have been what she'd sworn him to secrecy for. She thought it probably _had_ been a bit dramatic. She knew he recognized the flowers as the ones that grew through the cracks between the stones of the wall that surrounded the castle of Winterfell.

So he also realized, then, that she had left the castle, as it drew close to night, _unaccompanied_. Sybel had felt completely safe with her direwolf close beside her, though, baring her teeth in a half-snarl. Her Septa would have her head when she found out. _If_ she found out.

"_You_ picked them?" He frowned. "By yourself? You should have asked one of the maids to do it for you."

But Sybel had always felt safe in Winterfell, and saw no need to pester anyone to accompany her, when they were already busy with other tasks. Besides, she hadn't gone far – she was only _picking flowers_. She shook her head, saying simply, "They are too busy with preparations for the welcoming feast that I didn't want to take up more of their time with something I could do myself."

Her Septa needn't ever know. The only problem was, she had fallen over a stone, and as she reached her hands out, bracing for the fall, she had pushed her coat back and landed on her knees. There were brown smudges on her dress, at the knees now as a result.

She bit her lip, hesitating about whether she should show the stains, before sweeping aside her coat to reveal her dress underneath. He silently appraised the dress she wore quickly; it was clearly designed for celebrations, being a deeper, fuller red than the pale one she had worn earlier that day. He found himself approving of the colour. When she glanced up at his confused face, she pointed to her knees to explain, and his eyes followed the gesture.

"I fell." Damp dirt had been pressed against the material, and left marks that didn't seem to brush off easily. That was what she wanted to keep secret – it was the only evidence that _she_ had been the one to leave the castle, unaccompanied, to pick flowers. "Do you think it's noticeable?"

He had to quell a laugh. _Yes_. "No, my lady."

While the brown wasn't blatantly obvious against the red of her dress, it was still visible to anyone who looked at her legs. She sighed, seeing through his lie – she detected the lines of amusement around his mouth. "Olya will be irritated with me."

"I doubt it, my lady."

Sybel didn't look convinced. Olya was the perpetually harried looking older woman who had cleaned the dress this morning for Sybel to wear, and she would not be pleased that Sybel had gotten it dirty already, before the feast had even started.

She sighed again as they walked in silence, through the twisting corridors of Winterfell Castle. Servants hurried around, carrying buckets and trays and luggage, still preparing. Sybel didn't regret going to pick the flowers she'd spotted earlier that day, growing on a small patch of grass down from her window. She had seen Sansa eyeing the flower in Sybel's hair that morning, and she thought it'd be nice to find some blue ones for her. And then she would wrangle some into Arya's hair as well.

She looked up at him, suddenly remembering, "You said you were searching for me?"

He nodded, "Your father wishes to speak with you and Lady Sansa before you go down to the feast."

Her sisters' chambers were across from Sybel's and as they got closer, Sybel smiled at him, "Thank you Jory."

"You're welcome, my lady."

She knocked on Arya's door first, knowing that it would probably be a fight to persuade Arya to let her put the flowers in her hair.

…

**So…what did you think?**

**I'm so happy with the response to the first chapter; I'm really glad you guys want to read this (hopefully you still do)! I promise to continue updating this story if those of you who enjoyed it, review. That way, I know there're people who want to read more of this, so therefore I will write more of this. Cool? :)**

**On another note, Sybel's going to meet Jaime next chapter! I'm so excited to write that, and I hope you guys are too! Right now I have so much study to do that I'm not sure when I'll be able to get the next chapter out, but I promise I will!**

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed! It means so much to me, you guys! Boosts my self-confidence just that little bit each time :D**

**Diange: **Thank you so much for being my first reviewer! When I read the first part, I had a mini heart-attack where I was thinking you were about to tell me how stupid my story was, but then you did just the opposite! Thank you so much for the super encouraging first review! It means so much to me and I'm so glad I somehow managed to make you fall in love with my story with just the first chapter! I really hope this chapter didn't change your mind! :D

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**Ghg: **Thank you, I'm so glad you love this story! A JonOC fic, you ask? Well, I'll be honest. I saw your review and thought _hmmm_. Literally, that was my first thought. So I thought about it, and thought about it again, and thought about it some more before coming to the conclusion that I had absolutely _no inspiration_ for a JonOC fic. But then it just _hit_ me :) So now I'm currently in the middle of writing the prologue. Hopefully I'll be posting it soon for you, then, and that you'll enjoy it!

**AMF101: **Thank you! I'm ecstatic you seem to want to read more, and that you think it's good! Thank you! :D :D And thank you for reviewing – it's so nice of you to take the time to do that for me !

**Endlesspossibilitiesforuandme: **Aw, thanks ;) You didn't have to review this again, though – you already did that when it was posted as "A Game of Hearts"! It's so, super sweet of you to, though, and I'm really glad you definitely want to read more :D :D Thanks so much :D

**L. L. Pottle : **Thank you! Haha, I'm so glad you want to read more! :D :D

**Northernstar99: **Aw, thank you so much! You really didn't have to review this again, though – you did that previously for when it was posted under "A Game of Hearts" – and that review was so super nice of you! But thanks for doing it anyway, I'm really glad you want to read more :D

**SunshineDaisies6: **Thank you! I'm stoked you think this is so good, and I'm flattered you want me to continue! I hope you enjoyed this chapter then, and thanks so much, again! It was nice of you to review this for me :D :D

**Allylovesklaus: **I'm so ecstatic you want to read more and want me to continue! I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much then! Thanks so much for taking the time to leave me such an encouraging review :D

**Sparks94: **Aw, thank you so much! I'm so glad you want me to continue, because I wanted to continue it! I'm super pleased you want to see where this goes, though (and that you thought the chapter was brilliant – so nice of you :D), and I hope this chapter was a step in the direction you were hoping for! Thanks so much for taking the time to review! :D

**I think I replied to everyone, but if I didn't, please tell me! It means so much to me that you guys reviewed, and I'd feel awful if I missed someone!**


	3. Chapter Two

**A/N: **_**Wow.**_** Just wow. **

**This story has 38 reviews, 41 favourites and **_**108 follows**_** for only two chapters! You guys just blow me away! Thank you so much for your support of this story. You guys are awesome :D**

**Enjoy this chapter!**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Two_

…

Sybel – her dress now mostly free of dirt and un-ruined after considerable grumbling from Olya – sat on the soft bed, trying not to ruin Sansa's hairstyle their mother had perfected as she pinned the blue flower into her hair.

Sansa sat in front of her, perched delicately on the edge, her hands splayed in her lap. Sybel had listened to her younger sister recount, in a clearly enamoured voice and painstaking detail, the exact way the light had hit the Prince's hair and made it appear to be _actual, real spun gold_.

Sybel wasn't convinced, but she made no comment other than to nod and agree that the Prince was _very_ handsome. It had been a long time since Sybel had sat on Sansa's bed and talked like that – more often, Sansa shared everything with her friend Jeyne, and Sybel was not about to mess it up.

"But what if he thinks the flower is _stupid_?" Sansa asked worriedly.

Sybel just shook her head, shifting slightly on the bed. Her fingers clumsily pinned the blue flower in place at the back of her younger sister's head, before her hands smoothed down Sansa's arms where she squeezed them in a comforting gesture.

"What nonsense," Sybel declared adamantly, assuredly. She leant forward, pecking a kiss on her younger sister's cheek before jumping up from the soft bed, signaling she was finished. "A pretty flower for a pretty girl, what could possibly be stupid about _that_?"

Sansa stood too, looking down at her shorter, older sister and considering how certain she was that Sybel lived inside her own happy, perpetually-peaceful world where nothing awful could penetrate through. She had a constant, complete confidence in everyone that Sansa couldn't fathom – how could she be so sure that the world would turn out the way she thought?

Sybel smiled softly at her younger sister, "You look beautiful, and if Prince Joffrey doesn't see it, he is most certainly a fool."

She reached forward to lightly touch the back of Sansa's hand, by far the most affectionate Stark – the one to notice the change in another's mood, and the one who found the simple contact of kissing or hand-holding as completely natural and easy.

Reassured by her sister, Sansa reached up to feel where the flower was sitting in her orange-auburn hair, notably Southern styled. She'd asked their mother to style it that way, after the Queen. Her mind returned to her previous topic as Sybel led her to the door, her eyes taking on a distant glaze as she murmured happily, "Prince Joffrey is so handsome, isn't he? With his golden hair and dashing smile. He's just like all the knights in the songs and stories…"

Sybel smiled indulgently, voice laced with laughter as they walked quickly down the corridors, "Should he be worthy of your affections, I will undoubtedly approve of a union between the Crown Prince and the loveliest girl in the North."

It was all posturing, but the notion caused a blush almost as red as Sybel's dress to cover Sansa's face as she smiled embarrassedly. Sybel felt a swell of triumph, suddenly understanding why her brothers loved to tease her too – it was amusing to watch a reaction to her words play out across another's face. Sansa opened her mouth to reply when they arrived outside the door where their father waited, and she knocked.

"Enter," they heard their father call, and they stepped into the room where they usually received guests and heard the troubles of the town's people. Their father stood in the middle of the room, dressed in his best clothes, and Maester Luwin stood beside him, conversing in low tones.

Sybel's curiosity spiked as Sansa said, "You wanted to speak to us, father?"

He turned to face his daughters, eyeing their dresses, "My daughters, you both look lovely."

Sybel grinned widely before casting a vaguely proud look at Sansa, who beamed under the attention, "One more than the other."

"Perhaps," he murmured, agreeing that Sansa was by far the epitome of perfection, in her blue dress she made herself. His eyes twinkled with a knowing light as he took in the marks of dirt still on Sybel's dress, though they were less noticeable now, absently thinking his eldest daughter didn't fully recognize her worth and value, "But the other is not without her own merits."

Sybel pursed her lips, somewhere between disbelief and feeling pleased under her father's praise. Maester Luwin cleared his throat, bringing them back to point, and her father nodded at him gratefully. Ned Stark considered his daughters, "The King has indicated his desire to honour us with a union between our Houses."

Sybel's heart dropped to her stomach and proceeded to make her feel light-headed and panicked and giddy all at once. She had only been teasing when she had said those things to Sansa before – she did not think it would come to anything, considering the number of Houses, and perhaps better choices. House Tyrell was rich – their family would be the obvious choice to marry into.

Their father continued, "_If_ I accept, Prince Joffrey will be wed to one of my daughters. Arya is too young, but Sansa you are of an age to be betrothed and Sybel, you are already of an age to be married. I always promised to take your opinion into consideration."

"My Lord," Maester Luwin cut in carefully, smiling kindly at the girls, "as I mentioned before, it would be wisest if Lady Sybel were betrothed to the Crown Prince. Lady Sansa may be considered a rejection on Lady Sybel's part, and would not be taken well by the Queen."

Her father's lips twitched in agreement before Sybel could process what it really meant. But then he said, "Robert has given me permission to choose a daughter for his son. And Sansa is younger than the Prince; that is on her side." His eyes landed on Sybel, steady and warm, "What is your wish?"

Sybel glanced uncertainly at her sister. Sansa's eyes were widened in heartache and disappointment. Sybel had seen the amorous way in which Sansa had watched the prince. By the gods, she had just listened to her talk incessantly about him. She had been instantly enamoured by him – they had stared at each other as he arrived in the courtyard even.

While Sybel…Sybel was as uninterested in the prince as ever. She could say absolutely that she did not feel even a hint of what Sansa felt. She couldn't be sure why, and nor did she want to think about what her brothers had teased her about earlier that day.

But Joffrey was the _Prince_.

One day, she could be _Queen_.

Her children could _rule_.

And Sybel wanted the best for her future children. She would never be in want for anything, and she would be protected, her children protected. The possibility of such power, such control, was giddying. One day, she could rule the Seven Kingdoms. _And_, Sybel thought, _I could, maybe, make a good Queen. I could rule benevolently… _

…with a man Sansa thought she loved.

Sybel's enthusiasm for the possibility came to an abrupt stop. How could she ever be happy knowing that? Sansa was young and she would likely get over it as she aged and matured further. But Sybel could never willingly take something for herself that her siblings wanted.

And she'd never wanted to be Queen – admittedly, it had never been a possibility, but she had not even imagined it, in passing daydreams or fantasies. To be Queen would be a responsibility, it carried expectations that Sybel wasn't sure she could deliver on. But _Sansa_…Sansa was undeniably born to be Queen. Even at thirteen, she was far more proper than even Sybel, who had four namedays on her. She was a perfect lady. She was proving it even then, as her older sister was being offered something she wanted.

"Father," Sybel began, biting her lip. This was not the direction of conversation she had expected when Jory told her her father wanted to see them before the feast. "I...to marry the Crown Prince is surely an honour upon our House."

"Then it is settled." Maester Luwin concluded, but her father continued to watch her. His eldest daughter had a kind heart; more caring and compassionate than anyone else he knew, so he had known Sybel's decision even before he posed the question to her.

"_Except_." At her words, Maester Luwin paused, his lined face also becoming expectant. He looked back to the girl who had recently grown to a woman. "The honour would be better suited if Sansa were the daughter Prince Joffrey would marry."

There were a few moments of extended silence as her decision sunk in. When the words left her mouth, they felt right. She knew it was the right choice, though she couldn't say why. Why would giving up the opportunity to be Queen be right?

"Sybel," her father warned seriously. "You will not receive such an advantageous offer again."

It would hardly matter to Sybel if her future husband were as wealthy and powerful as the Prince. Sybel glanced at her sister, who was staring at her with such hope that Sybel couldn't bear to take that away from her, to snatch back her words. Sybel could never take something her sister desperately wanted. She smiled at her younger sister, "I know, father."

He nodded, glancing at Sansa, "Hurry along to the feast Sansa, your sister will join you shortly." Sansa did as she was bid, smiling widely at Sybel in gratitude and happiness, leaving the door slightly ajar. "I will begin a better search for a husband for you, my sweet daughter. One worthy of your kind heart."

Sybel looked at the floor, smiling softly, "Yes, father."

He nodded, giving her permission to carry on to the feast, so she turned for the door, slipping through the crack and closing it. As she turned down the corridor at the end of the hall, she nearly collided with another person walking in her direction. She jumped back, squeaking in fright. At first, she thought it was a child, but upon closer inspection, she realized it was a man, short and stubby, with mismatched eyes. A dwarf.

This was the Queen's brother. Tyrion.

His lips twitched sardonically at her noise of fright, "Am I really so intimidating a figure to behold?"

For a second, she panicked, her eyes widening as she thought she'd insulted him. But then she took in his faintly amused smirk and the intelligent light in his eyes, and she realized he was only playing. Her mouth lifted as she pretended to contemplate him, one hand on her hip, the other brushing her lips in thought, "I can't say for sure yet, Lord Tyrion. But if you're half as smart as they say you are then you're undoubtedly twice as intimidating as they give you credit for."

He grinned, vaguely surprised but mostly pleased, "Well aren't you a charming creature? What's your name?"

"Sybel Stark."

Recognition coloured his face, and he nodded. "So _you're_ the woman the men of this cold land worship?"

Heat rushed over her cheeks, making her flush. She frowned, tilting her head to the side in confusion as she stared down at the man, pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling from the thought of anyone _worshiping_ her. It seemed so absurd. "They don't worship me."

His grin was a secretive jest that said he knew something she didn't because she just couldn't see the truth. "The whores sing your praises; I hear you've sent many a man to them."

Her eyes bulged, "I've never sent anyone anywhere."

Sybel couldn't be sure what to make of Tyrion Lannister. She liked how he was blunt, how he made no effort to be overly polite or to be careful of his words. He didn't try to hide who he was; he made no effort to hide that he had been to a brothel, and he made his height into a joke. But she also got the feeling that he was making fun of her, in a way. Not a cruel way, with hidden meanings and verbal slaps, but his words seemed to carry a second of layer of something she couldn't quite understand or grasp.

He watched the Stark girl, extremely amused. He liked the way she was oblivious. He found it almost endearing that she didn't seem to realize that the way the material of her dress stretched across her rounded hips and breasts could trigger lusty thoughts, or the sensual curve of her mouth, when pursed just right, could take on sexual implications.

"My mistake," he acquiesced easily. "Perhaps they spoke of another woman."

"They did," Sybel insisted one last time, before frowning slightly as she looked around the corridor, "But Lord Tyrion, this is not the way to the welcome feast."

He looked up at her unexpectedly bright grey eyes, finding her to be not at all like what he expected from a Stark. "I've come to the conclusion that this castle is actually a maze, designed to trap and confuse unsuspecting guests, dooming them to wander blindly down the halls until they drop of starvation and exhaustion."

Sybel smiled brightly at his humour, her teeth flashing as she let out a peal of laughter. "It can be quite confusing on your first visit, but I'll show you the way."

She gestured back in the direction he had arrived from, making her steps shorter so he could walk at a comfortable pace. They moved down the winding corridors, their feet echoing slightly to fill the silence that swallowed them.

* * *

Robb was a steady presence beside her as their mother hurried between her children, explaining who they would be escorting into the hall for the feast. Lannister's, Stark's and Baratheon's milled outside the door, waiting, and Sybel stood to the back, observing. Sybel's eyes darted sideways before she said, "What's on your mind, Robb?"

Her brother had been a silent mass of peeved contemplation since Sybel wandered up to him minutes before. He hadn't even taken a moment to comment or tease her about the marks on her dress – which he had clearly seen. He blinked, like she had startled him, "Nothing."

When she went to call him on his lie, he added, relaxing his tense shoulders, "Why is your wolf here? You know mother said they're not allowed at the feast."

Sybel glanced down at Inferno sitting on her haunches, slightly shielding Sybel from the commotion in front of them. Her ears were up, her eyes following the people moving around, like she didn't trust them. Smiling, Sybel ran her fingers through the coarse hair on her direwolf's head, "Sometimes, I think I am more _her_ human than she is _my_ wolf."

Robb laughed, any sign of his previous preoccupation disappearing. They continued to watch their mother prepare for their entrance into the hall for the feast, seeming to have an argument with Arya. Sybel's eyes landed on her father.

Or, more specifically, the stiff way her father stood beside the yellow-haired Queen. His smile was polite, though almost as rigid as his posture. He was uneasy, Sybel realized. Unsettled. There was something about the Queen that made her father distinctly uncomfortable.

She recognized the reason quickly; the Queen was a Lannister. And Sybel's father did not like that particular family. Judging from the distasteful flaring of the Queen's nostrils, the feeling was mutual. There was an inherent mistrust between the Stark's and the Lannister's that Sybel was just beginning to notice. Sybel knew from her lessons with her Septa that during Robert's Rebellion, the Lannister's did not join with King Robert until the end, and not through the most noble or honourable routes.

Her father did not trust them.

And for a moment, looking at the Queen's calculating eyes and icy cold smile, she could see why that might be. There was a cunning light in her eyes; it made Sybel nervous.

Sybel's father was a honourable man. A good man. She trusted him completely, trusted his judgments and valued his opinions; she was proud to be his daughter, to have his eyes. And loyalty to her father implied a similar dislike directed at the Lannister's.

And yet, when she searched inside her own mind, she could not find any. She was just simply curious. She looked for Tyrion, but he'd disappeared as soon as they arrived. He was a clever man, that much had been clear from their meeting. And clever could be cunning, but she hadn't seen anything malicious in him. Sybel actually noted that she seemed to like that particular Lannister.

Then there was Jaime Lannister. She supposed she was most curious about the man who carried the name _Kingslayer_. Her eyes flickered around, searching for the unmistakable flash of golden hair.

She found him at the back as well, leaning lazily against a wall, his arms crossed in front of him, one ankle hooked around the other. His hair was shiny and golden, and he embodied everything that came with the Lannister name; tall, handsome and fair-haired. There was almost an arrogant air surrounding him; something in the way he lifted his head and leant against the wall.

What surprised her most though, was that he was doing exactly what she was doing. Watching.

She wondered what he saw.

When he turned his head slightly in her direction, she quickly looked away, just to make sure he wouldn't catch her watching him. Her eyes landed on her brother again, and she tilted her head to the side as she looked at him, frowning. She wasn't sure what it was, couldn't put her finger on it, but something was slightly off. She was almost sure it wasn't something visible that made her think that; he stood the way he always did, his relaxed expression was just the same as it always was. She placed a hand on his arm, just above his wrist and leaned towards him, "Is…is something wrong, Robb?"

He sent her a vaguely incredulous smile that wasn't really a smile, more a quirking of the lips. "How do you always know when one of us is upset? When we hide it so well that no one else notices? No one but you."

She frowned. He was evading her, deliberately diverting her attention, _again_, to a different topic. "Robb."

Sybel wasn't sure if he was going to answer or not, but he didn't get a chance. Their mother came to a stop in front of them. Her eyes ran over her children's clothes, pleased with their appearance. Catelyn Stark couldn't say she cared what the Queen thought, but she was immensely proud of all her children, and in a motherly show, she wanted the Queen to see that. The scrunching of the Queen's nose had driven her to that point.

"Sybel, my sweet girl," she said, her hand lightly cupping her daughter's cheek, aware of Sybel's slight frown. Her eldest daughter was observant, Catelyn knew, but also remarkably and paradoxically unobservant. Sybel knew that her mother only cupped her cheek in that gesture when she regretted having to say or do something, and she wondered what it could be this time. "Robb, you look very handsome. Princess Mrycella will be pleased to be escorted by you, I'm sure."

Robb didn't look particularly happy about that, and he said nothing in reply. Sybel frowned suddenly, realizing she didn't know who she'd be escorting in. She supposed she'd be by herself; Sansa would be with Joffrey, considering her earlier decision, and Arya would be with Tommen, as she was closer to his age. "Who am I escorting?"

Her mother's blue eyes, exactly like Robb's, held Sybel's for a moment longer. "Jaime Lannister."

As Sybel glanced over to where she knew he stood, Robb's head whipped around, eyes flashing with an argument as he hissed, "Jaime_ Lannister? _The _Kingslayer_?"

Robb and his mother were of the same mind; they did not particularly want Sybel to associate with that man, who was both a Lannister, and who had a less than honourable reputation and an arrogant demeanor. Especially Sybel, who was too kind and too trusting for her own good.

Sybel's eyes widened in shock at her brother's condemning tone. 'Kingslayer' was a derogatory name, and the fact that her brother, who she looked up to and loved, would use it in such a nasty way surprised her. She couldn't stop the admonishing, "Robb!"

Sybel was not a fool; she had heard the stories of that particular Lion, and even then she could see his almost haughtily superior expression. He was even a Lannister, and her admiration of her father would suggest that she would at least be on guard around him. Suspicious.

_But_.

But, she formed her own opinions. She had never met him, never spoken to him, and she was determined to remain open to him, regardless of what her family thought of him. And her mother's obvious hesitancy and her brother's disbelief only made her more curious about that particular Lannister.

"Yes," their mother answered Robb, giving him a pointed look. "He is the Queen's brother."

That closed the matter, and their mother hurried off again, throwing her daughter one last look. Robb grumbled beside her. First, he'd been annoyed that Sansa was so enamoured by Prince Joffrey, and now Sybel had to make conversation with that Lannister. He didn't know which thought made him the most unhappy; he was perhaps just slightly protective of his sisters.

Out the side of her field of vision, she saw Jon walk towards them, Ghost at his feet too, now that their mother had left them. Robb pinned her with a serious stare. "I don't trust him, Sybel. And you shouldn't either."

Sybel frowned, "You don't _know_ him, Robb. It's unfair to judge him on rumour."

"He's called Kingslayer for a _reason_."

The name carried an unspoken accusation. _Oathbreaker_. It made Sybel wrinkle her nose.

"Well then," she said loftily, like she thought her brother was overreacting. She took a couple steps towards Jaime as Jon came to a stop beside him, saying over her shoulder, "I'll be sure not to reveal all my secrets and then vow him to secrecy."

**Thank you so much for reading! What did you think?**

**Firstly; I'm SO SORRY it took forever to get this chapter out. I have been ridiculously busy with study; it's been **_**crazy**_**. The last few weeks have literally been one thing after the other, and trust me, I'd much rather be writing this than any assignments. (though, I **_**did**_** design and conduct my very first unsupervised psyc experiment. You guys should've seen me; I was all professional…until my friends participated.)**

**Secondly; I know, **_**I know**_**, I said Jaime would make a proper appearance in this chapter! I lied! Technically, I'd been planning for him to, but then I got so stuck about how they would meet. I wanted it to be perfect, and then I kind of freaked myself out, and this chapter got longer and longer and **_**still no Jaime**_**, so I decided to just bring him in for the next chapter.**

**BUT I'm so jazzed up and my mind is pumping with ideas, that if you guys review as **_**amazingly**_** as you have been and let me know what you think, then I promise to work super hard to get the next chapter out within the next three days. Seriously. I have two assignments to write and one exam to study for, and I'm willing to postpone all of that if you guys really want to read some Jaime.**

**(I kind of want to write him)**

**So let me know what you thought!**

**My lovely reviewers, favouriters and alerters:…I love you. **_**So. Much**_**. Here are the review replies:**

**YouAreMyRevolution: **Thank you so much! I'm so happy you think my story is amazing already (especially because there's only 3 chapters now!)! I'm stoked you can't wait to see where it goes, because I'm really, really excited to write it, and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for taking the time to leave me such an encouraging review!

**ggfv: **Here you go! Thanks for the encouragement- I know it took forever to get out, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway!

**KatieGG: **Your English is perfect! Thank you so much, I'm really pleased you think my story seems lovely and that you seem to want to read more! :D Thank you so much for leaving me such a nice review – it means a lot to me!

**LuCkY-StAr69: **Aw, I'm so relieved the previous chapter lived up to your expectations! Hopefully this one did too, despite the really long wait (sorry!). I'm really glad you like Sybel – I was kind of hesitant at first to make her a little softer than the other characters, but the response to her is phenomenal. I'm really glad you were still wanting to read more, and hopefully after this chapter, you still are again! Thanks so much for reviewing again!

**Allylovesklaus: **I know, me too! I'm sorry they didn't get to meet in this chapter, but definitely the next chapter- there's no escaping it now, I've lead right into it! Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint you too much then, considering the lack of Jaime! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far, and hopefully you still will! Thank you so much for reviewing again :D

**L. L. Pottle: **I'm so stoked you're coming to adore this story! Hopefully you still do! I'm glad you're excited to see where it goes, because I am too! Haha, I have a general idea, but nothing is planned as of yet :D It'll be a surprise for both of us :D Thank you so much for reviewing again!

**Neko: **Hahaha, I'm sorry! I'm glad you thought it was well written, but I didn't mean to leave you _starving_! Haha, I'm glad you enjoyed it so much you want to read more, and I hope this chapter was just as good as the previous ones! Thank you so much for leaving such a nice review (it made me giggle, and totally shot my modesty out of the water :D)!

**CuciBurga: **Thank you so much! I'm stoked you think Sybel is a lovable character (because I love her too), and I love that you adore her! Thank you so much for the encouraging review – I'm so happy that you seem to want to read more, so hopefully after this chapter you still do!

**HermioneandMarcus: **Thank you! I'm so pleased you thought it was an excellent chapter update and that you can't wait to read more! Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter too then (and thank you for the super polite review!) :D

**LittleNK: **Maybe Sybel _is_ what Jaime needs, I'm stoked you're beginning to think that! :D Thank you so much for leaving that review (made me smile like an idiot) and I'm so happy you seem to want to read more! Hopefully you enjoyed this chappie then :D :D

**LiviLottie: **Thank you! I'm so glad you think it's an amazing story and that you want to read more! I want to write more, so I guess this works out well then, huh? :D Thank you so much for reviewing! It means so much to me!

**Waterbender91: **Thank you! I'm stoked you think it's awesome so far, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter then! Thank you so much for taking the time to leave me a review – it's really nice of you! :D

**SunshineDaisies6: **Thank you so much! I'm so stoked you thought it was good, and I'm really happy that you liked that Sybel is sweet! Good! –I'm glad you can't wait for Jaime to make an appearance (ahhh, I know I said this chapter, I'm sorry! Definitely the next!) and hopefully you still are! Thank you so much for taking the time to leave me a review :D

**les goddam: **Thank you, thank you! I'm really really happy that you like that Sybel is sweet and innocent! I read a lot of those stories too, where the eldest Stark daughter is cold, and I kind of just thought; _well, what if she was soft and warm and sweet? I'd like to see Jaime with someone who is sweet; he'd probably have no idea what to do_. So thank you so much for leaving me that review – it really made my day, and I hope you liked this chapter too :D :D

**leeyfjs: **Thank you so much! I'm so stoked you loved it! I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much :D

**DiscoPenguin: **Oh. My. Gosh. I loved the way you described how you think I portray Sybel! Seriously, it's so crazy spot-on to how I wanted her to come across as, and I literally did a happy dance (or as close as I could get at 5:30 in the morning when I read it) when I read your review and saw that you got it! Thank you so much for taking the time to let me know – it made my neuroscience lecture bearable! :D And I'm really happy you thought the first two chapters were a good start! I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much as the last two! :D

**Obscuriosity: **Thank you so much! I'm super pleased you think the story is really amazing! I'm really glad you want to read more, so it definitely doesn't get annoying reading that in a review! It just blows my mind how much people seem interested in this story! Thank you – I'm stoked you like Sybel so far, and _good_ – I'm glad you want to see more of her and Jaime because I want to write it! :D Thank you so much for taking the time to review! :D

**jafcbutterfly: **Here you go! I hope you enjoyed this chapter then, and thank you s much for taking the time to review this for me! :D

**0netflixme0: **Thank you! I'm really pleased you loved the last chapter, so I hope you liked this one just as much then :d Thank you so much for reviewing this story! :D


	4. Chapter Three

**A/N: You guys amaze me. I'm SO SO SO happy you guys want to read this! It makes my day to log on and see someone has favourited or followed or left a review.**

**EDIT (01/11/14): So, I re-wrote this chapter. I wasn't really happy with it to begin with, and I felt like too much was happening between Sybel and Jamie for a first meeting, so I changed it. Let me know what you think!**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Three_

…

"Inferno, _follow_," Sybel said, turning away from Robb and dangling her fingers at her direwolf so she would follow—not that the pup needed any encouragement to trail after her wherever she went. She just always seemed to be there, at Sybel's heel, and they were never apart for long. She supposed that Inferno was rather possessive, looking as though she was glaring at the people walking about, like she didn't trust them with her master.

Sybel found comfort in her presence as she felt Robb's eyes on her, and she guessed he would be filling Jon in on what he'd missed of their conversation. His reaction had been almost ridiculous, she decided—Jaime Lannister was only human, and certainly not a monster. He could not be so bad as to warrant such a reaction from Robb—that Sybel could not even be escorted by him—and so she decided that he had merely been overprotective.

Robb was prone to such bouts anyway, and it was why she thought better of telling him about the way Theon spoke to her sometimes. It would definitely create a rift between them when Robb punched Theon in the face, and Sybel did not want to be the source of hostility over crude yet harmless words.

The tingling, uncomfortable sensation of being watched prickled her skin again, interrupting her musings, and causing her to glance around the hall, seeking the source. She was expecting it to be her mother, trying to get her attention, or baby Rickon, looking for familiarity among the quickly moving bodies and number of waiting strangers.

Instead, Jaime Lannister was smirking at her. His lips were pursed in a wicked line, his eyes hooded and slightly narrowed, as he took the situation in front of him. Sybel blinked, surprised, and stumbling slightly over her own feet, like they had tried to both retreat from him and leap towards him. It caught her off guard, and it only made his smirk widen.

Sybel blinked, her steps pausing to a standstill, uncertain. Strangers in the North did not smirk at each other—in fact, she couldn't even recall a time when she had seen someone smirking at her who she didn't know well. And Jamie Lannister was certainly a stranger.

Paused as she was, halfway between the familiarity of her brothers and the unknown of Jaime Lannister, she was struck with an oddly foreboding sense that twisted her gut painfully and made it hard to breathe. She glanced back to find Robb's glare had intensified, directed straight at the Lannister, and Jon stood solidly beside him, face somber and serious. Both were clearly unhappy with the situation, and it only amused the object of their distrust.

Jamie Lannister appeared arrogantly amused that he was the cause of her brothers' ire.

"Ser Jamie Lannister," Sybel said when she turned back to him and walked the last few steps to stand in front of him. She pushed away her slight unease, smiling warmly, "Welcome to Winterfell."

His eyes shifted from her brothers to her, the deep emerald of them surprising her. They were intense eyes, seemingly bellying the indifferent air he carried about himself as he draped himself across the wall. She felt imaginary frozen fingers dance lightly up her spine.

"_Lady Stark_," He pushed himself off the wall, eyes moving back to silently taunt her brothers as he reached for her hand and kissed the back of it in a sweeping gesture. His lips whispered across the soft flesh of her hand, making her skin tingle lightly. She sucked in an uncomfortable breath, almost yanking her hand out of his as he straightened back up. It seemed to only amuse him, and her chest tightened, stomach twisting. He raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking over her shoulder, "The elder men of your family don't seem to like me."

His voice was oddly pleasant and smooth, but it also made her feel distinctly uncomfortable in her own skin, a kind of nervous tickle. He didn't seem to particularly care what her family thought either, his voice spelling out his boredom, and Sybel glanced behind her, spotting the tense, tight-jaw stance of her father watching them too. She smiled at her father, as if to reassure him, and turned back to Jamie.

Wanting to dissuade the tension she could practically feel tightening between them all, she pursed her lips, trying to stop the smile as she lightly told Jamie, "You should not rile them so; they're going to be watching our every movement very closely now." As an explanation, she added, "They're very protective."

"Hmm…" He leant back against the wall, his arms folded in front of him, a vaguely superior upward lift to his chin. His eyes darted to hers, his smirk still firmly in place, and Sybel guessed he wore it often, considering the way it settled so easily across his features. "But where would be the fun in that?"

There was something that made her think he was mocking her, that the Lannister-Stark hostility was imbedded in him just as strongly as with her father. She frowned slightly, conjecturing whether he was deliberately trying to aggravate her family. "Do you find it amusing to provoke people?"

She wondered if he knew the kind of pull his eyes had—when they focused on her, all she could see was green. _Beautiful green_. Judging from the way the corners of his mouth lifted in barely-restrained smugness, though, he knew exactly what she was thinking. He was extremely aware of his presence and the effect he could have.

Her question made him actually _look_ at her, and she shifted on her feet as his unfathomable eyes scrutinized her, the intense green unexpectedly wreaking havoc on her stomach. The soft, inquisitive smile tilting her mouth had a sensual curve to it, and Jamie suspected it garnered plenty of attention from men. He tried to figure out if it was purposeful—she was either a talented pretender, or unnervingly open.

From his experience, Jaime suspected it to be the former, and the fact that he couldn't see any tell-tale signs of it—there was no criticism in her voice, no judgment, no shrewd light in her eyes—only put him on guard, suspicious. His head tilted to the side, drawing the word out slowly and deliberately, clearly watching for her reaction, "Extremely."

It pleased him that she clearly didn't know what to do with his blunt honesty.

Sybel suspected that Jaime Lannister was not someone she would end up conversing with easily, the way she did with the other men of Winterfell. She'd spend half her time trying to figure out if what he said was what he meant, or if there was something completely different going on inside his head. What she got with him would never be what she _actually_ got.

Clearing her throat subtly, she said politely, "We are to enter the welcome feast together, ser."

"If we must." He sighed, as if such a thing were a chore he didn't particularly want to do, his tone bored, as he glanced away dismissively.

Jerking back slightly as if he had slapped her, she frowned at his words. "Well, if it's any consolation, I'd much prefer to be on the arm of your brother tonight."

"My _brother_?" He asked incredulously. His head turned slightly, disbelief flashing across his features so fast that she wasn't entirely sure she had seen anything other than that smirk.

"Yes," Sybel said, straightening under his gaze and brushing her hands down the front of her dress. Feeling the need to defend herself, she said, "He does not confuse me when we speak."

"Have I said something confusing?" He asked, raising a dubious eyebrow that clearly questioned her mental capabilities. She puckered her lips, deliberating how best to point out that he did little more than smirk and try to make her move about on her feet.

"It's not what you've said, but _how_ you've said it."

He silently evaluated her, and Sybel found all she could do was stare back. His eyes watched her too closely for comfort; they probably saw more than she would like, and she thought he knew his staring made her uncomfortable and that was he was doing it.

The loud creak of the large wooden doors made her jump, twisting to find everyone partnering up in a line. Her father stepped into the hall, the Queen on his arm. Then her mother and the King, Robb and Myrcella, Sansa and Joffrey, Arya and Tommen, Bran, then Rickon.

And then Sybel and Jaime. She trailed behind him as he walked up to the door, getting ready for when they were to enter. Just before they stepped into the hall, he lifted Sybel's hand quickly to rest on his arm. She stared absently at her small, pale hand, tingling slightly, as it rested against the red material of his robes, and it was the first time she realized they wore matching colours.

Stepping into the hall, Sybel's chest tightened, her gut twisting as she realized that Jamie Lannister created a striking figure. It wasn't just that he was handsome; tall and golden and muscled, with a chiseled facial structure and a strong jawline. No. It had more to do with the air he carried himself with. Infinitely amused, charmingly haughty and yet also indifferent and superior. More obviously, though, it was the sheer amount of confidence he had that was rather intimidating. The subtlety of it creeping out in his slightly raised eyebrow, and his relaxed posture, the proud lift of his sculpted chin. It was more potent than any loud posturing or attention-drawing acts. The way he could almost be mistaken as lazy. And how he was completely undaunted by all the eyes resting on them as they made their entrance.

Smirking down at her, he took in her parted lips and the soft flush spreading across her cheeks. He said in a low voice, lips barely moving, "_Smile_."

She was sure he was mocking her. Her lips felt stiff on her face, as she regarded the sea of heads turned towards them. The hall was filled with people of Winterfell and members of the King's company. Then she caught sight of a familiar face in the crowd, smiling at her, and she found her responding smile came easily again.

Jaime stood tall, his expression clearly unimpressed, and somewhat disparaging, like he thought them beneath him; he did not smile at people—oppositely, in fact; he didn't even spare them a look. His eyes were fixed up on the raised dais where the other Stark's and Baratheon's were seated.

He had piped her curiosity, and she had the strong urge to figure him out. He was almost a complete opposite to every other man she'd spoken to in Winterfell—they were simple to understand; they laughed and smiled and conversed with her easily. They never left her feeling like she was missing something. They never left her feeling confused and dazed and questioning what they had meant. They never stared at her like they wanted to make her shift uncomfortably.

They weren't so complex—a puzzle to piece together.

A whining, semi-pathetic howl punctured the air, and Sybel's eyes widened, coming to a stop. She hadn't told Inferno to _stay_, and now the pup was scratching at the wooden door, trying to get inside, just as the doors opened again to let Tyrion enter after them. Inferno bounded down the middle aisle, straight to her owner. Slipping her hand from Jamie's arm, she crouched down to meet Inferno, before nervously looking to her parents, smiling sheepishly.

Her mother looked like Sybel was causing her undue grief, and her father was trying to look stern as he pointedly gestured his head towards the door. People of Winterfell chuckled as she coaxed her direwolf back out of the hall. The easy way she grinned at her direwolf beast, undaunted by the sharp, glinting canine teeth designed to rip her flesh from her bones, seemed to Jamie to be idiocy. She affectionately scratched its head, commanding her to _stay_ this time.

Clearly, Jaime snorted disparagingly, she was blind to danger.

She closed the doors firmly, wincing slightly when she heard some snuffling at the crack. Muttering apologies to Tyrion and other people as she passed, darting back down the aisle to where Jaime stood, the procession paused.

When Sybel reached him, she caught his subtle expression—the twitching of his upper lip as he glanced at the door, like the beast disgusted him—and her eyes widened expressively, her grin growing to reveal straight teeth. "Perhaps you're just jealous that you don't have a lion."

The few people within hearing range laughed, and Jamie raised an eyebrow at her, saying nothing. He stuck out his elbow, and she wrapped her hand around it easily, continuing the procession.

Jaime didn't miss the way the majority of attention was plastered entirely on Sybel. She didn't move fast, she wasn't loud, she did nothing to make people stare at her. She wasn't tall or imposing – in fact, she was just the opposite. But she somehow managed to drag their eyes to herself.

She wasn't beautiful like his sister, Cersei. She wasn't particularly graceful. It was nothing obvious. But then, he supposed, there was something there, in her steel eyes that were almost unnaturally warm. Or the way she singled people out and smiled specifically at them, like she knew them and were genuinely happy to see them.

Vaguely irritated, he looked away. Whatever it was that the eldest Stark girl had, it made him uncomfortable because he couldn't figure out what it was. He couldn't figure out what she was doing, or planning, and he liked to think he was good at spotting manipulative people. He wanted to make her just as uncomfortable.

Sybel felt herself relax almost immediately after he'd removed his eyes from her, and when they reached the raised dais at the end of the aisle, they moved to opposite ends of the table. She sat in the familiar chair beside her brother Robb; he eyed her for a moment, still displeased with her entry partner. But she smiled at him, he smiled back, and they fell back into their usual, casual chatter. Food was brought out, speeches were made, and then, hours later, the real fun began. Musicians played their instruments loudly in the corner of the room, alcohol flowed freely and conversations rose in volume.

Sybel stood up, her belly satisfyingly full, and walked away from her table, ready to engage in talk with anyone and everyone. She loved feasts; the lively atmosphere and the way people would talk and laugh and shout and dance. They were times of happiness, and she thrived on them.

Men exchanged war stories and jokes, women gossiped together. The few children permitted to attend ran between the adults in games. Sybel had already finished the one glass of wine her father permitted her at feasts, the liquid warming her cheeks and making her laughter come easier, as she made her way around the tables. A light sheen of sweat settled on her forehead, making a few strands of her hair stick to her as she moved into the throng of people.

At one point, she was diffusing glares between her sisters, the next she was chasing a little boy who had pulled her into a game. The long skirts of her dress twisted around her legs so many times she was surprised she hadn't fallen yet, but there was always someone there to steady her. A serving boy, no older than herself, was always eager to fill her cup with water when she ran out, and many times she found herself pulled into conversations with people she walked past.

Eventually, she found herself towards the back of the hall, when one of the doors swung open and a familiar sight greeted her. She paused mid-sentence, trailing off in surprise before offering a quick apology as she dashed away.

"Uncle Benjy!" Sybel cried happily, launching herself at her uncle. His arms, used to the weight of a sword and the brunt of combat, wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet easily and spinning her around until she was dizzy. She laughed, and when he placed her back on her feet gently, she swatted his arm lightly, "I'm much too old for that."

He grinned down at her, the hardened look to his eyes softening slightly in the face of his niece. "You'll never be too old for me to swing you around like a sack of potatoes."

"A sack of potatoes?!" She asked incredulously, planting her hands on her hips. She smiled happily up at him as she scanned his face for injury or changes; new scars or more lines etched into his face that spoke more than he would. He seemed older than his years, his skin cracked and weather-beaten from the harsh cold. What made her frown, though, was the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "How are you?"

He never lied to her, she knew. Partly because she could tell when he was, and partly because he found it surprisingly easy to talk to her. Her eyes seemed to encourage the truth from him, coaxing it out. "Tired. And exhausted."

"Have you not been sleeping enough?" She demanded, her tone almost reprimanding. "Or eating enough – I'm certain you've gotten thinner since I last saw you. And why did you not tell me you were visiting?"

His truthfulness only stretched so far, though, and he never spoke to her about the horrors he had seen, guarding the Wall as man in the Night's Watch. He did not wish to worry her, because he knew she would. Without fail, every month he received a letter from her, about trivial things; keeping him updated on his brother and nieces and nephews, ending with her customary plea to stay safe and warm. He placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head ruefully, and teasing her, "You pester like a mother hen after her chicks."

She opened her mouth to comment that he hadn't answered her questions, but he cut her off. "I didn't know I would be visiting until right before I left, so there was no time to send word. We will talk more, but now I should greet my brother."

"Fine," she conceded. "But we must go riding tomorrow morning, before you leave."

"We will," he promised. "At first light, I'll meet you at the stables."

He smiled at her again before walking past her towards his brother, his black clothing standing out clearly in the hall. Then she turned to face the next person beside her, ready to continue with her festive mood, when she was met with Robb's irritated expression. Before she could even ask what was wrong, he said, "Why does the _Kingslayer_ watch you?"

Her gut tightened at his words, but she pushed it aside. Her eyebrows had shot up in surprise, about to tell him how ridiculous he sounded with his persistent _you-can't-trust-Jaime-Lannister_ attitude, when her smile faded and she followed his glare. Sure enough, Jaime Lannister stood to the side of the crowd, his expression masked, staring straight at her. He didn't look away and she shifted under his gaze.

She swallowed, a frown on her face as she stared back. She couldn't fathom any reason for his gaze to be on her, still. She glanced back at Robb, who was watching her expression carefully. Forcibly, she relaxed her face, laughing. "He is watching _you_, Robb, not me. Perhaps he finds your prominent jaw rather attractive. Or perhaps it was your pretty blue eyes that have caught his attention."

"Sybel."

Apparently, he wasn't in a playful mood anymore, and Sybel sighed. "I have _no idea_, Robb, but what does it matter? He is doing no wrong that I can see."

"I don't like it."

_Evidently_.

She looked back at Jaime again, to find him still watching them. He continued to stare. And stare. Never dropping his eyes. She frowned, feeling her festive mood slowly slip away. She didn't know why he was watching her, why he continued to watch her, even when she'd obviously caught him. It was clear he wasn't trying to be sneaky or surreptitious about it; he didn't care if anyone noticed, if she noticed. Instead, he watched her blatantly, his eyes like pressure on her skin, heating it to a prickly, tight degree.

Was he _trying_ to make her uncomfortable?

Suddenly, the hall was far too stuffy, too heated and filled with too many bodies. It was too loud, an almost-painful pressure on her ears, and she felt her skin crawl with the need to get out. Mostly though, it was from his heavy stare that she needed to get away from, and her brother's questions she couldn't answer.

She needed a clear head, to think, and all she felt was a hazy sort of unfocus that made her head pound sorely, her thoughts coming to her like she was wading through a swamp of thick mud. She spun around, pushed the door open and stepped into the frigid night air. To her right and left were the covered hallways, and in front of her was a courtyard, smaller than the one where they had met the King's arrival.

She breathed deeply, the air so cold it burned her nasal passages on the way to her lungs. But it was a cool relief, and the prickly sensation on the back of her neck disappeared. The hairs on her arms raised under her dress, her skin seeming to pulse with heat as the cold rushed around her. She stood there a moment longer, eyes closed, letting the cold clear her head.

**So…what did you think of their first meeting? Loved it? Hated it? Thought it was 'meh'?**

**I'm sorry it took so long to get out, but I got so hung up on making it perfect. I re-wrote it only about a million times, and I couldn't seem to get it right. I'm still not happy with it, but I figured I'd post what I had anyway. It may be re-written. So feel free to let me know **_**exactly**_** what you thought of it – just, you know, be gentle with me please. Don't break me.**

**EDIT (01/11/14): So, I re-wrote this chapter. I wasn't really happy with it to begin with, and I felt like too much was happening between Sybel and Jamie for a first meeting, so I changed it. Let me know what you think!**

**You guys have been so amazing. I'm so happy at the welcome this story has received, and I really hope this chapter wasn't a letdown! Thank you guys, SO MUCH.**

**Review replies—**

**L. L. Pottle: **Aw, thank you so much! I'm stoked you thought it was good (though, I did think it was a little boring)! It's so nice that you've reviewed every chapter! Thank you!

**Guest: **Hahahaha, um, I don't think I'd be able to pull off a whole chapter from Jaime's POV! This chapter kind of has his thoughts mixed in, in a weird way, so hopefully that's enough for now, because I'm definitely not confident enough to be writing from his POV! Thank you for the suggestion, though, and I'll see what I can do in future chapters!

**ManonVarendaz: **Thank you so much for taking the time to review this story and to let me know you're intrigued and keeping your eye on this! It makes me really happy that I've managed to pique your interest enough that you'll check it out in the future! (Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter then!)

**Dracolover: **Thank you so much! I'm really, really happy you love it and seem to want to read more! I hope you enjoyed this chapter then! :D

**HermioneandMarcus: **Thank you! I'm stoked you liked the last chapter and that you can't wait to read more – hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint then! :D

**0netflixme0: **Thank you! I'm so pleased you loved it and want to read more!

**LittleNK: **haha, I'm sorry it took so long to get the last chapter out (and this one!)! I'm really glad you were looking forward to this chapter and reading them getting to know each other – I really hope this chapter didn't disappoint then! Thank you so much for taking the time to review again!

**Winter1990: **Thank you, I'm really glad you were looking forward to this chapter – I hope it didn't disappoint you too much then! Thank you so much for reviewing this for me – it means so much to me!

**Obscuriosity: **Thank you so much again! I'm so so SO happy you loved the conversation between Tyrion and Sybel – I wanted it to be really good, because I mean, well, Tyrion is awesome, but I was so nervous that I'd get him all wrong, because he's so clever and witty. So you have no idea how happy it makes me to know you enjoyed their conversation! Thank you so much! I'm really glad you were looking forward to seeing Jaime and Sybel then, and I hope this chapter didn't disappoint you then! Thanks so much again!

**zZhell-butterflyZz: **Naw, shucks. Thank you so much! I'm so flattered you think I have a great writing style, and that you think the plot and ideas are original! Mostly, though, I'm so flattered that you loved it! It makes my day knowing someone enjoyed something I wrote! Thank you so much for reviewing! :D

**Endlesspossibilitiesforuandme: **Aw, thank you! I'm stoked you think each chapter is better than the last (hopefully this chapter has followed that pattern then) and that you're interested in what else I have in store! Thank you so much for reviewing! :D

**LucyRider17: **Thank you, I'm really glad that you like it so far, and that you seem to like that Sybel is a little more like Sansa than like Arya. Thank you so much for taking the time to review this story for me! It means so much to me :D

**Katsekala: **Thank you so much! :D I'm super stoked you were looking forward to this chapter and I really hope it doesn't disappoint you then!

**Mrsmiawallace88: **Thank you so much for reviewing both chapter 1 and 2! I'm so pleased you thought chapter one was a good start! I'm mostly pleased that you like Sybel – and that you understand the liking older men thing, hahaha! Aw, thank you – I'm stoked you thought chapter two was wonderfully written (you're going to give me a big head), and I know, Jory is awesome :D Thank you so much for reviewing this for me! It means so much to me!

**Guest: **Aw, thank you so much! I'm super pleased you think my story is good so far, and that you seem interested in reading more! I hope you enjoyed this chapter then! Thank you so much for taking the time to review this story for me! It's so nice of you :D


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has favourited, followed and reviewed! You're amazing. I mean it. Your support means a lot to me, it's practically overwhelming.**

**I know it's been forever since I posted an actual, new chapter, (damn you assignments and exams) but I hope at least some of you still want to read this! Please let me know what you thought of think of this chapter. I'm trying to start to write longer chapters—do you guys want that, or do you prefer how much I've been writing in the previous chapters (usually around 3600 words)? This is going to be a long story, so bear with me while begin to flesh Sybel out as a character.**

**And instead of writing review replies out at the end of each chapter, I think I'm going to switch to replying via PM to the ones I can, and then guest ones here. Let me know if you'd prefer it the old way, though.**

**Guest: **Thank you! I'm really pleased that you think the re-written version was well done! I still don't feel like it's entirely right, but I'm happier with it than the original! :) I hope you like this new chapter!

**Guest: **I'm glad you're enjoying my story so far, and that you like Sybel so far! Thank you for your suggestion, I definitely have no intentions of letting Sybel become a mary sue, and as I write more chapters, I hope to flesh her character out more so that she doesn't seem like one! I love that you're interested in seeing what I plan to do with this story (and if you hopefully keep reading, I'd love for you to point out if you ever think she's becoming a mary sue!)! :)

**Constructive criticism is definitely welcomed. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Four_

…

The cold seeped down to her bones, but Sybel hardly noticed. Her mind seemed to be buzzing, more alert than any other part of her as she gazed unseeingly upwards. Clouds must have been covering the sky, she concluded distantly, because the moon was shielded from her vision, though it was too dark to tell for sure. The few torches hanging on the walls seemed to cast the world in shadows, the only proper source of light until something shifted and the moon was revealed in all its silvery brilliance.

Away from the overwhelming atmosphere of the hall, she felt foolish. It had only been a bit of staring—_harmless_. Completely harmless. And yet she'd run out of the hall, and now standing out there in the cold, she couldn't really figure out _why_ she had. Perhaps it had been the wine, or the festive mood she'd been in that made her hands shaky with the need to laugh and dance and smile, pushing her to one thing after the other as quickly as possible. Or perhaps—

"Lady Stark?"

Sybel let out a squeak, jumping in fright at the familiar voice interrupting her thoughts. She hadn't detected the short, stumped figure come into view, stopping right in front of her, as she watched the sky. Her hand flew to rest above her rapidly beating heart.

"Lord Tyrion!" Blushing, she wondered how long she had been ignoring him for. It seemed he had a habit of startling her out of her thoughts, and her wide eyes assessed his expression for any hint of irritation.

His lips were curled in a tempered smile, not much more than an upward twitching of lips meant to convey reassurance to her that he was not angry at her accidental rudeness. In fact, he appeared to be sunk deep in his own musing, internally reflecting on something that bothered him, and Sybel suspected that her presence had knocked him from his thoughts just as he had hers. The smile was really only for her benefit. "I apologise if I startled you, my lady."

Sybel shook her head, brushing aside his apology with her own. "It was my fault. I was lost in my own thoughts." She eyed the wineskin hanging from his hand, and the lines around his eyes, before pressing her lips together. It was not her business, and she barely knew him to ask what occupied his thoughts. But she couldn't help the concern, and couldn't stop her own tentative question. "Are… are you _well_?"

His eyebrows rose. "Quite."

Sybel bit her lip, not believing him but also not sure whether she should press him on the subject. She wanted to, if only so she could help. Instead, and with great effort, she attempted a smile to change the subject. "Why are you not inside with the others?"

He grinned at her, leaning his head to the side to rest against the wooden post as he looked up at her. "I could ask you the same thing, Lady Stark."

"Oh, well…" Sybel trailed off when he folded his arms across his chest, tilted his head, and quirked his lips in a smirk. It reminded her very strongly of his brother, despite the fact that they looked so different, and it brought that fact to the forefront of her mind—that they were _brothers_. It didn't seem like a good idea to admit that Jaime Lannister was the cause for her hiding—because that was surely what this was—right to his own flesh and blood. "I just needed to breathe."

He raised an eyebrow, pausing for a few moments to let her know that he knew she wasn't telling him the whole truth before he replied. "Is that so? I can imagine that it's quite unbearable in there. There must be considerable tension between Lannisters and Starks, considering our history."

Sybel frowned, thinking over the night. Her father had been tense, and she supposed it was more so than what he usually was during feasts, and her mother was clearly uncomfortable sitting beside the Queen. Robb and Jon had made their feelings about one particular Lannister quite clear, and likewise that Lannister as he surveyed the crowd gathered in the hall. None appeared particularly festive that she could remember, though she did recall Arya, Bran and Rickon running about, and concluded that Lord Tyrion had been correct. There was tension among those old enough to be aware of it.

She'd almost missed it herself, and she wouldn't have taken any notice of it if it weren't for him. The distrust her family had of Lannister intentions, and the Lannister clear dislike of her family—it was there, if she actually looked for it. It had been there in the tight line of her father's mouth as he regarded the Queen, as he watched the exchange between herself and the Queen's twin brother. It had been there in the green light of the Queen's eyes as she judged the North and its people on their arrival. Gods, it had been clearly there in Robb's glare and Jaime Lannister's smirk. Frowning, Sybel nodded slowly, "Yes, I suppose there is."

"But that's not the reason for your escape out here," he deduced easily, reading her like he would a book. Sybel wasn't sure she liked it. His eyes watched her, waiting to see if she would reveal the full reason.

She huffed a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, "You are most certainly cleverer than what they say."

"My dear lady," he grinned ruefully, his tone carrying a note of self-deprecation, "as a dwarf, my wit is all I have." He rubbed his hands over his arms, and set his jaw. "I should return now, and help my family through this night."

She nodded at him as he walked for the doors, pausing to take a swig from the wineskin, before slipping inside, gone just as silently as he had arrived. She stared at the door where he had entered, frowning to herself as she considered just how similar the Lannister brothers were, despite outward appearances, though one was considerably less confusing than the other.

The steady _thwack_…_thwack_…_thwack_ made her turn back around, her eyes darting around the darkened courtyard. She didn't realize anyone else was out here—but then, she had not even realized Lord Tyrion was out here. She crept along the hallway, the ends of her dress sliding over the stones with a quiet rustle, her breath coming out in white puffs. Her fingers met the frozen wooden posts as she spotted Jon. She smiled as she watched him bring a sword down on a wooden cross, draped with a tunic, that was used for sword practice.

She closed her eyes again, leaning her head against the wooden post, letting the _thwack_-ing become a familiar rhythm. As the cold air danced along her equally cool skin, she thought again about her hasty escape from the feast, a red blush heating her cheeks at how foolish she must have seemed. He had only been staring, after all; she could've just ignored it.

"Sybel?" Her eyes flashed open, as Jon noticed her there. He frowned at her, walking towards her, his face as solemn as ever. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she smiled at him, and as soon as she pulled her lips into the gesture, her teeth began to chatter. She didn't realize just how cold it was out there, how deeply it was permeating her body.

He was still frowning as he bent forward to see her face properly, assessing her as he reached out and held her two smaller hands in his. "Your hands are frozen."

She glanced at her fingers, surprised at how her usually pale skin seemed to have a blue-ish tinge to it. "I just came out for a moment to myself. There are so many people in there, I can hardly breathe."

"You love feasts," he pointed out, making it clear he didn't really believe her, but not calling her on it. Was she really so transparent? It perturbed her, and she wondered just how much of what she was thinking was obvious to those around her. How many of her private thoughts were actually not so private, if both her brother and Lord Tyrion had noticed?

She grinned reluctantly though, at how well he knew her. "I do."

None of this seemed to be adding up for Jon, because he kept frowning. "Perhaps you should return to where it is warm, then. You could catch your death."

"What about you? Will you return with me?" She gestured over her shoulder at the doors to the hall, trying to shift his attention off of her. "Will you dance with me?"

He shrugged, shaking his head "I do not feel in the mood." Sybel's smile slipped and she sighed. She knew what he meant; that her mother did not want Jon there. Jon was never one who liked being pitied, and this moment was no different as he continued talking so she would not. "Besides, you will not be short in dance partners."

Catelyn Stark detested Jon's presence at Winterfell, and as much as Sybel wanted to drag her half-brother into the hall with her, she did not want to cause strife. "I'm sorry, Jon."

Her apology seemed to fall short, even to her own ears. It seemed like what she wanted to do would always fall short when faced with whether her actions would cause conflict. Her father was a man of honour, of action, who would not stand for injustice and would fight for what he believed to be right, and as much as Sybel aspired to be like that too, she always found her path impeded. She could see what was right, what _should_ be done, but when it came down to it, she would be passive. She would not cause trouble, she would not create conflict—she would not find herself in the middle of confrontation, regardless of whether it was right.

Her brother graced her with a small smile, shaking his head at her apology in understanding, before nodding in the direction of the hall. "Go on then. Before they gather a search party to bring you back."

She knew he said it to make her smile again, so she did, even as guilt roiled in her gut. She didn't want to go back inside, where it was warm, and enjoy the feast, when her brother could not. But dragging him inside with her—assuming she would even be able to, considering how much bigger and stronger than her he was—what would that accomplish? More hostile glares and animosity directed at him from her mother? A tense evening for Jon? Even if she thought he should be there, she wasn't going to push the subject. "I don't think my presence is _that_ sorely missed."

He shook his head rather than answer, giving her a shove towards the door. Impulsively, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a hug, a sort of contentedness bubbling in her chest. When she continued to hold onto him though, he snorted and jabbed her in the sides with his thumbs, making her jump and squeak indignantly. Laughing, she let go, the more somber mood shifting into a playful one.

He shoved her towards the door again when her teeth began to chatter, and she did as he'd said, pulling the heavy wooden doors open. The sound of laughter and music and shouting hit her suddenly, along with a welcoming warmth, and she glanced back at Jon once. He'd already turned back to the practice cross, swinging the sword in his hand with the ease of practice.

She slipped inside, her fingers and toes feeling like they were melting, and immediately she was pulled towards an older man, who'd clearly had too much wine and was trying to find a dance partner by stumbling around and reaching for people. Sybel knew him—Lord Fredrik, of House Fenn, whose brother was a member of her father's guard. He was a funny man, often at Winterfell on business with her father, who never missed an opportunity to make her laugh at some joke.

She danced with him, laughing loudly as he pulled her about, his wife rolling her eyes exasperatedly at her husband's drunken behaviour. At some point, Fredrik's attention was caught by something else, and he stumbled away from her, leaving her to continue to wander around the hall.

* * *

The hour grew later, and the numbers inside the hall had diminished by a few—not many, as the hall was still loud and full—but enough so that the bitter night air had managed to leak inside and find a hold. Her feet ached, the sheen of sweat cooling on her skin, and her voice felt raw from shouting above the roar all night. She was ready to retire to her chambers, spent, when she spotted Rickon, in a corner, eyes drooping heavily.

She was surprised he wasn't in bed yet, for even Arya and Bran had been sent back to their chambers, and Sansa looked ready to sleep on the table at any minute. She walked over, scooping him up and immediately her arms protested at his weight as she placed him on her hip. His head automatically rested on her shoulder, his arms going around her neck easily, and she leant back slightly to compensate for his weight, swaying back and forth.

She turned her head to the side, her cheek pressing to his and her lips near his ear as she murmured softly, "Bed for you, my little pup."

He wriggled half-heartedly in protest, as he was known for doing. He never wanted to go to bed when others were still awake, even though when he was taken to bed, he would be asleep before his body hit the mattress. His voice was groggy and full of his impending unconsciousness. "But I'm not tired."

Sybel laughed softly so that she wouldn't wake him any further. If he woke properly now, he would never let her take him to his chambers, and would spend the rest of the night running around, before waking early tomorrow and spending the day walking around in a grumpy, grouchy stupor. "Is that so?"

He grunted an affirmative, but Sybel could hear his breathing deepen as he slipped between waking and sleep. He smelled faintly of sweat, mixed with the same thick air of wine and sweat and too many bodies pressed close together that filled the hall, his grubby hands gripping the material of her dress. He needed a bath, but there was no chance of that happening tonight. Sybel glanced up at the table where her mother sat with the Queen, indicating she would take Rickon to bed, when her mother widened her eyes and nodded her head towards the woman beside her. She made her way towards them, shifting Rickon every now and then, trying not to jostle him too much. She could hear him snoring softly.

Stepping up onto the dais, Sybel bowed her head and dropped slightly in an awkward curtsey for the Queen. "Your grace."

The Queen smiled at her, eyebrow slightly raised. Despite her smile, her face seemed pinched, like she was suppressing anger. None of it entered her voice though, which was nothing but honeyed kindness. "You would be the eldest Stark girl."

"Sybel, your grace," she supplied, nodding, and smiling back warmly. Up close, she saw that the Queen was remarkably beautiful, with her spun gold hair, and her rich robes of gold and red, embroidered and tailored so perfectly. She looked beautiful in those colours—the _Lannister_ House colours, her mind informed her—and Sybel couldn't help but feel her own red dress was dull in comparison. The Queen stared at her, and she was hit with the familiar unnerving feeling. Her eyes were just as green as her twin brothers', and seemed to find it just as easy to make her just as uncomfortable with the way she stared intently.

"Quite pretty," the Queen said, almost to herself. Though her tone wasn't really that of the complimenting kind—more observational, as if she was taking notes. "Will you also be joining us at the Capital?"

"I suspect so, your grace," Sybel nodded.

The Queen thought about this, before leaning forward slightly and asking in a conspirator-like voice, as if they were close friends and sharing secrets. The motion was enough to beguile Sybel into leaning in as well. "And how did you like being escorted by my brother? He is very handsome, is he not?"

Sybel blanched, face stricken, eyes darting to her mother for direction, before looking back at the Queen. The Queen watched her closely, and Sybel's mind raced to figure out what answer would be most pleasing for her to hear. She couldn't very well admit that Jaime Lannister was by far the most confusing man she had ever met, and that he seemed to be both arrogant and provoking, and aware that he was these things. Sucking her lips into her mouth, deliberating, she answered, "He was polite and courteous towards me, your grace."

She deliberately avoided answering her last question, and the Queen noticed.

"Such sweet politeness, I find it mysterious that you are yet unmarried," the Queen smiled. Sybel held her breath and blushed, seemingly amusing the King's wife. "Have you found a potential husband, then?"

"No, your grace."

Her eyes ran over the material fitted across the curves of Sybel's breasts and hips, causing Sybel to shift under the evaluation, before looking her in the eye again, "Such a prize should not be hidden away in her youth. We shall have to find you a suitable match then, won't we?"

"Yes, your grace," Sybel nodded. Rickon groaned slightly, turning his face so his other cheek rested on her shoulder, and Sybel ran her fingers through his wild hair gently. Curtseying again to the Queen, she said, "I hope your stay with us is enjoyable, your grace."

The Queen smiled again as Sybel retreated from the table, holding Rickon to her as she winded her way through the crowd towards the door. She stuck close to the wall, deciding it was the easiest way to exit, rather than trying to battle her way down the middle. She'd made it to the door, when an arm reached over her shoulder and pushed it open for her.

Stepping out, she turned to smile gratefully as the Capitan of her father's household guard followed her out. "Thank you, Ser Jory."

He inclined his head. "Shall I escort you to the little lord's chambers, my lady?"

"That won't be necessary," Sybel shook her head, and smiled again. Despite the smell of wine on him, he had clearly not been drinking enough that it had inebriated him. In fact, he looked alert, and she supposed his training had taught him that.

Jory frowned at her, "Wine has been flowing freely tonight, Lady Sybel, and many men have partaken. I do not think it wise for you to wander the halls alone."

"I should hardly think I would be attacked in my own home," she declared, and the surety in her voice was worrying to Jory, if only because she was quick to assume the best when he suspected she should really assume the worst. He briefly wondered whether her parents sheltering her all these years had really helped her, and her future residence in the Capital bothered him. When Sybel saw that he continued to frown, she acquiesced, "But if you think it best, Ser Jory."

"I do, my lady." They walked in silence a few moments, before Sybel groaned. Her arms were aching from carrying Rickon's weight—he was hardly so little that Sybel could cart him around with ease, and he was beginning to pull her arms towards the ground. Seeing this, Jory quickly lifted the boy from her arms, and she sighed in relief, smiling gratefully at him again as she rubbed her sore arms. Rickon did not seem fazed by the change. "I've got him, my lady."

"Have you enjoyed yourself tonight, Ser Jory?" They passed empty corridors and hallways occupied by men in guardsmen uniforms, standing around and drinking. The men laughed loudly as they passed, and she was suddenly glad Jory had insisted. Not that she felt unsafe in her home, but his presence beside her was comforting.

"I have, my lady."

"And did any beautiful women catch your eye?" Sybel teased. Jory had been among her father's household guard for years, and not once had Sybel ever seen him talking with a woman for any reason other than to pass on messages. He'd never spoken of taking a wife, either, which Sybel found confusing. He was not old or ugly, and his many years training with a sword had only layered his body in thick muscle.

His lips twitched as they began their ascent up the stone stairs. "Only one, my…" He trailed off when they reached the first landing. It was dark, the torches burning low that they could only just make out the outline of a figure leaning against the small window right in front of them. Sybel quickly lifted her brother out of Jory's arms, frowning. No one should've been all the way up here—this way led to the family chambers, and the only family she had big enough to fill that outline was her father, and Sybel remembered seeing him as she exited the hall. With his arms now free, Jory's hand rested on the pummel of his sword. "Who's there?"

"Don't draw your sword," the figure sighed, turning around, and Sybel recognized the voice. "It's only me."

"Ser Jaime?" Jory asked in surprise, before his eyes narrowed. "What are you doing up here?"

Jaime Lannister stepped closer, into the faint circle of light the torch provided. His posture was relaxed, and not at all like he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't. "I left to take a little stroll, and lost my way."

Sybel nodded, knowing that his brother had also found himself lost earlier that afternoon, as the halls of Winterfell could be confusing. She glanced at Jory and couldn't tell from his expression whether he believed Jaime Lannister or not. There was a tense silence that the Queen's brother seemed to enjoy more so than Jory, before Sybel spoke up. "Ser Jory was escorting me to my chambers."

"Indeed," Jaime Lannister said, looking between Sybel and Jory. There was another pause, before he continued speaking, his lips quirking into a not-quite smile. It wasn't particularly warm or welcoming, but rather, his smile was… _sharp_, and Sybel didn't understand what he wanted to achieve by wearing it. "I can take her from here, if you wish to return to the feast, Ser Jory. I'm sure I saw you eyeing a kitchenmaid before, and I wouldn't want to take you away from her for long lest some other man occupy her attention."

Jory shifted uncomfortably, and Sybel suspected the kitchenmaid to be the woman who had caught the Capitan's eye. "I promised Lady Sybel that I would see her safely to her chambers, ser, and so I will."

Sybel placed her hand on Jory's arm in reassurance, surprised at the Lannister man's kind offer, and not wanting to keep Jory any longer. Especially if there was someone he wanted to see. Sybel grinned a teasing smile at Jory, "It's quite alright, Ser Jory, if you wish to return to the feast. I'm sorry to have kept you from the kitchenmaid, and Ser Jaime has kindly offered, so you can leave me here and consider your duty fulfilled."

Jory frowned. "But I—"

"You heard her," Jaime intoned, his voice mocking. "_Run along_."

Sybel frowned and pursed her lips as Jory shuffled backwards slowly, before he turned away to walk down the stairs. For a fleeting second, she didn't want him to go and leave her alone with the Lannister. But then he was out of sight, and Sybel turned on her heel and continued up the stairs, ignoring her companion and hugging her brother to her.

Beside her, Jaime Lannister grinned. "Have I upset you, my lady?" He sounded like the prospect only entertained him. Sybel pursed her lips again, not wanting to speak her mind or start an argument. She assumed his offer had been made in kindness, but she began to doubt that now. When she continued to walk in silence, he sighed, "well go on, tell me what I did to anger you."

"What makes you think I'm angry?" Sybel said instead.

"Your silence."

She bit her lip, before choosing her words carefully. He was the Queen's brother, and she could not reprimand or scold him or do anything of the sort without repercussions. "You were quite rude to him, ser, and I'm not sure he deserved it, is all. But I'm sure I do not understand the whole story."

He rolled his eyes. "It was just a few harmless words exchanged between fellow guardsmen." She didn't know whether to believe him this time, about _this_ specifically, considering his previous record of acts of provocation. It seemed instead to her, that he could be rather mocking when he wanted, particularly towards those who he held in distaste. "Do you always jump to the defense of your household guards? Or is this one special?"

She missed his intended implication. "Ser Jory is like family, you understand. He has served us since—"

"Since you were but a child, I'm sure," he said drily. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, and she glanced at him to find him looking directly at her, for the first time since they had crossed paths at the stairs. His eyes widened in a smug way that made her feel like that now his mocking was directed at her. "He _really_ should know better than to be lusting after the daughter of his lord employer, then, shouldn't he?"

Sybel froze in her place, a blush rushing across her face and down her neck, and his eyes seemed to track the spread along her skin, encouraging it almost. She eyed him then, the thought that he was trying to goad her like he did her brothers suddenly occurring to her. He had seemed plenty pleased to irritate them earlier that day, with his smirking and charm, and Sybel abruptly felt _played_, like she was tied to strings and he was dangling her around. She certainly didn't like it, and he tone was far more guarded than usual when she asked, "Do I amuse you, ser?"

"Quite," he said bluntly, as if he said exactly what he thought, and did not censor himself. "Particularly your reactions."

"So you _are_ provoking me, then?"

He smiled that same, sharp smile that made no sense. "It seems I've upset you again."

Sybel stared at him, her brows puckered in a confused frown. She just didn't _understand_ him, and she didn't know how she felt about that. She liked to think she was observant, and that if there was one thing she could do better than others, it was _see_ people—know them and understand them and relate to them. But Jaime Lannister didn't give much away, and she found she really didn't see all that much. He smirked and smiled and mocked, but she couldn't see _why_. She couldn't read him.

Curiosity gathered in her chest, and she found herself staring intently at his face, like the force of her gaze would open his mind to her and reveal it all. But instead, she saw nothing more than that smile and his unreadable eyes, and she realized she knew nothing, really, about him either.

She wanted to question him more, to start to figure him out, but she felt the exhaustion in her bones, and her brother's weight heavy in her arms. And she did not especially feel like being played any more tonight. "I can walk the rest of the way alone from here, Ser Jaime. Thank you for kindly escorting me this far."

The corners of his mouth tightened, his nostrils flaring, as Sybel turned around and walked the rest of the way to her brother's chambers. She didn't come across anyone else that she was aware of, though it would've been easy for her to miss them when her mind was swirling with thoughts on the Lannister's she had spoken to that night. She could almost see why her family was so wary of them all—whenever she conversed with one, she was always left feeling like she had revealed more of herself than they had. If they wanted, if they tried, she didn't doubt that they would be able to prompt her into revealing all of her secrets, and the knowledge unsettled her. What did she have of her own, if not her secrets?

By the time she made it to her chambers, she was far too tired to think any more.


	6. Chapter Five

**A/N: You there. Yes, you, reading this right now (who else?). I love you. No, no, I'm not insane, I'm actually completely serious. Without you sitting there behind your screens, reading this right now, about to read this latest update, I don't know how this story would be progressing. **

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**Lilo23: **No, thank _you_ for reading! I write for myself, but knowing that there are people who want to read what I've written is just amazing, and provides me with a ridiculous amount of motivation to continue! I definitely plan on finishing this story—it just may take me a while, is all! I hope you end up enjoying the chapters to come!

**Guest: **Hmmmm, that's a good question—but! If he was following them, how did he get in front of them on the stairs? Oh no, he definitely didn't get lost, haha! So I wonder what he was doing… I suppose you'll just have to wait and see then! Thank you so much for leaving your thoughts for me in a review! I love that you're getting into my story enough to wonder! I hope you like this chapter!

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…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Five_

…

The morning air was sharp as Sybel breathed it in.

The chestnut coat of her favoured mare, Faith, gleamed when the slowly rising sun broke the horizon and sent streams of light through the trees to land on them. The horse was gentler than the others, her rebellious streak dulled with her age—and the only one Sybel was allowed to ride, as she was the least likely to bolt if Sybel slackened on the reigns because she wasn't paying attention. It was after the second time Sybel was thrown that her father had forbidden her from riding any other horse, for fear that the next time Sybel wouldn't get up.

It was far too easy for Sybel to let her mind drift as they trotted down the winding path. Her uncle rode beside her atop his own gelding—a powerful beast with a dark coat that seemed to blend with his rider's cloak. From a young age, Sybel had found they shared a mutual appreciation of the woods right around sunrise, and these early morning rides had become almost a tradition for them.

Years ago, he had caught Sybel wandering the castle, far earlier than she should have, as he made his way towards the stables, his training in the Night's Watch and the shift work they did meaning his body woke with the rising sun. He had attempted to send her back to bed and Sybel had protested adamantly—or as adamantly as any five year old could when facing down a near stranger.

After they had stared each other down, her uncle seemed to realize he was trying to best a child, and instead bent down to her level—something she appreciated greatly—and asked, "do you like horses?"

She had thought about it for a long time, longer than she needed to, but she wanted to be absolutely sure in her answer, before declaring that she liked them very much, and he had held his hand out to her. She'd easily slipped her smaller hand into his calloused one, the roughness similar to her father's hand, and they continued the way he had been going. When they reached the path through the woods, he'd leant forward, the whiskers of his beard tickling her cheek, and told her to just listen. He'd shown her how separate the woods felt, like it was a different world, so completely undisturbed. All the nocturnal animals had just gone to sleep and it was just before the day foragers woke up. It meant everything was so _still_.

So peaceful.

When they'd returned later that morning, the whole castle was looking for her. Her mother had chastened both of them—_by the Seven, Benjen, what were you thinking? She could've died! She could've slipped off that beast of yours and broken her neck! And you, my daughter, why didn't you tell anyone where you had gone? I thought you'd been taken! I thought you'd died!_

But the next time her uncle had come to visit, they had gone for another ride, and continued to do so every visit after that. They rode in companionable silence. Neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts, and Sybel found her mind to be preoccupied with thoughts of the Lannisters again.

Or more specifically, one particular Lannister lion, and the way he seemed to enjoy interacting with her in an entirely unconventional—and improper—manner. It had only just occurred to her, because she had been much too focused on the meaning behind his words, to realize that his words themselves would be considered inappropriate.

And as they rode silently through the woods that morning, it progressively dawned on her that despite meeting a small handful of times, each conversation _had_ been loaded with inappropriateness. It lingered in every word he uttered, every implication in his tone, every arrogant smirk, and she hadn't even _noticed_ until now. She could hardly believe she'd focused so thoroughly on trying to figure out what he wanted, that she had missed the blatant-ness of it. So now her thoughts were preoccupied with nothing else.

She could not figure out why he acted in such a way with _her_. He had been entirely civil—perhaps over-charming, even—to her mother, or Sansa, when they had interacted briefly. He'd worn that arrogant smirk, every bit a prideful Kings guard, but not an ounce of mocking had dribbled into his words to Lady Catelyn Stark, nor had he attempted any kind of taunting.

There was definitely that second layer to his words—the disdain and possible taunts he could make coloured his voice, etched into the expression on his face. That was the layer that his smirking hinted at, that his overconfident, practiced tone could clearly deliver on, with a flourish. But he never let what hovered at that second layer to pass from his lips to the ears of those around him. Except with Sybel—and she didn't know what she'd done to make him do so.

She couldn't figure it out—had she offended him? Was that why he mocked her with his words and taunted her with his eyes? Was that why he stared—_on purpose_—until she was uncomfortable, why he was so very blunt with her? But Sybel couldn't remember a moment when she'd been rude, when her words could be mistaken for insults. She had not slighted him. She had not even said a bad word about him—she had even _defended_ him, against her brother.

What made Sybel any different? What made him think he could be any different with her? What had she done?

Slowly, the morning wore on, and the woods transformed from the silent, _still_ world she had entered, to a place that vibrated ever so slightly with life and movement. She couldn't see it, couldn't see any animals darting about—especially not when she rode through—but she could feel it there, in the air. She couldn't really pick out any particular movements—maybe some rustling of bushes or the sound of tree limbs groaning under weight—but individually, they were so miniscule to her eyes and ears, that it blurred all together to gave the distinct impression of _life_.

As they turned onto the last stretch of path, back to Winterfell Castle, Sybel's mind began to circle back to her first meeting with Jaime Lannister. Their very first introduction. An emerging kind of possibility hit her. Perhaps _that_ was it—the way they'd met.

She had walked over to him and informed him that they were to enter together. _She_ had introduced herself. She had been the one to do it, when every good, proper young lady knew better, knew from a young age, that that was not how it worked in their society.

Upon a first meeting, it was the lord's prerogative to present _himself_ to the lady.

He had to introduce himself _first_, the lady could not simply do it herself. That would be wrong. Proper decorum dictated so, and there was a set order to how these first meetings should play out and be enacted. There were whole tomes dedicated to explaining the proper deportment for a young lady—it was one of the first things Septa Mordane had taught her.

The lord would introduce himself, and the lady should then curtsey according to their rank before engaging the lord in the first subject of conversation—most typically the weather. Other allowed topics included conversable points of interest in their immediate environment, their mutual acquaintances and the harvest—but only should the harvest have been good. Always, a lady should be demure and diplomatic, elegant and attentive.

And that was simple enough.

But Sybel had broken that protocol—and she suspected that the lack of propriety between them, was all because Sybel completely forgot all of it when she introduced herself to Jaime Lannister. It was her own fault.

_She'd_ been the one to initiate a different kind of relationship between them—_she'd_ been the one to imply that they need not be polite and adhere to what was socially appropriate for people of their standing with their level of acquaintance. In a moment of idiocy where she'd tried to prove a point to Robb, she had flounced over dramatically instead of waiting for someone to introduce them, and made it seem like she was as improper as they came. It was not his fault at all, he had simply been copying her own actions. He had been saving her embarrassment, by not pointing it out, and just going along with her.

She was certainly a fool, and it would explain why he had been smirking so obviously when they first met. She'd had no clue why he'd be looking at her with such smug, _haughty_ superiority, and the whole time he must've been thinking she'd been raised in a barn without a single idea as to proper etiquette.

She had undoubtedly made an embarrassing scene, and she groaned out loud at this realization, her cheeks reddening. Her uncle glanced at her curiously, eyeing the flush spreading across her face, and seemed to debate whether he should question it. Thankfully, he turned back around, and they continued on in silence. This allowed her to return to her thoughts and her own embarrassment that came just a bit too late.

It had been _years_ since she'd ever needed an introduction—it'd been years since she'd met anyone new. She knew the men of Winterfell, she knew those she spoke to on a daily basis—most of whom were below her own station and were _not_ a lord, therefore requiring no introduction. She spoke with the peasants and the butchers and the bakers, the servants and the farmers and the soldiers, and that relaxed atmosphere to her conversations had made her forget herself. Had made her forget how she was supposed to speak to someone who _was_ a lord or a ser, who she had not known since she was a child.

Septa Mordane had even gone over it all before the Royal party arrived—what to say, how to say it, the proper way for a lady to be seen. But Sybel'd spent most of that time trying to get Arya to pay attention—Sybel's youngest sister was wild and needed the lesson more than she. She had been so confident that she would not embarrass herself. But she had, and now she had landed herself in this mess of an acquaintance with a man she really shouldn't be so indecorous with.

She honestly had no idea what to do about any of it.

"Uncle?"

He glanced at her side-long when she urged Faith to catch up to him so she was not shouting up to him. "Are you going to tell me what has you so very pensive this morning?"

Sybel bit her lip. "Have you ever… _behaved_ in such a way that it created a wrong impression of how things should be?"

He blinked at her. Then he frowned. "On a few occasions." He grinned at her lopsidedly, and it was a surprisingly boyish expression. It made him seem much younger than he actually was, thinning the haggard lines inscribed in his flesh. "I am not one for long conversations."

Sybel laughed at what could be considered an understatement. In that respect at least, she could say that her uncle Benjen was exactly like her father—reserved. Which made it easy for others to mistake him as being disdainful, and made it easy for miscommunications to arise. "And what did you do then to fix it?"

He frowned again, and the lighthearted expression vanished from his face. Sybel wished that the men of her family were not always so burdened, to be weighted down with so many concerns and their honourable solemnity, that it made smiling a rarer task. He shrugged, "the few whose opinions I care for know me well enough that such… _miscommunications_ do not occur."

Sybel sighed. "That does not help me, but thank you uncle."

"Perhaps if you told me what it is that you did, I could be of better use to you?" He suggested, and Sybel contemplated this, before quickly and easily deciding against it. If she told her uncle that Jaime Lannister spoke to her in the way he did—even if it was from her own doing—he would undoubtedly tell her father, and that would not end well. All Eddard Stark would hear was that Jaime Lannister mocked and taunted—and all together acted inappropriately—towards his daughter, and no amount of explanations or determined _it-was-my-own-fault_'s would make him hear anything else.

Sybel shook her head, "It matters not, uncle."

They made it out of the woods shortly after, and when Roderik Cassel approached Sybel's uncle, she left them to their conversation with a reminder for him to break his fast, because he was still so thin and gaunt, and it concerned her to no end.

* * *

As she broke her fast, the first half of that time was a quiet affair for Sybel. Her early morning ride meant she was the first one down, and the silence was almost deafening as she was once again left alone with her thoughts. To be honest, Sybel had had her fill of soundless contemplation—the morning's extensive reflection had only served to reveal just how much of a fool she had been, and she was in no mood to think over it all again.

She needed to think on what her next step would be concerning Jaime Lannister, but she had no clue what she should do and instead she found herself staring blankly at the long wooden table.

Then the rest of her siblings arrived, and conversation picked up, and she was no longer stuck with only her own thoughts. They were among the first present in the hall—Sybel had passed many a man lying about the castle in drunken stupor's, and so she figured it would be a while before any of their guests woke as well. They were lucky, she supposed, that Winterfell had been built on hot springs; if it had not been, she was sure the men would have caught a chill, or frozen over during the night.

Arya slumped into her food, grumbling about how their morning lessons began soon and how she despised all things lady-like and needlepoint related. Rickon wedged himself between Sybel and Arya, wriggling down in silence, despite there being plenty of bench space on either side of the sisters.

"Can you be brave without being afraid?" Bran asked the table at large. His eyes ran over Robb and Jon who sat together, talking conspiratorially, then to Sybel sitting across from him encouraging Rickon to eat more, and then over to Sansa who sat prettily at the end of the bench beside him, eyeing the door every few seconds, probably waiting for the Prince. When he was younger, Bran's list of questions seemed never-ending, and though he had mostly grown out of that stage, he would often have at least one he asked during meals.

"What do you mean, Bran?" Robb asked patiently.

"Father told me that the only time a man can be brave is when he is afraid. But wouldn't being brave make you _unafraid_?" He said it in a voice that made it clear he had given the notion a lot of thought.

Sansa was watching the door too closely to be paying any attention to her brother, and Arya was still groaning beside Sybel. "I hate needle work! I want to learn archery with Bran."

It was a usual complaint of Arya's, and so Sybel felt no inclination to reply. Jon said, "Our father is usually right—you should listen to him. Being brave would not be being brave if you weren't afraid in the first place. How could you be brave if you were unafraid?"

In Jon's eyes, Lord Eddard Stark could do no wrong. He idolized their father.

Though, they all did.

Robb nodded in agreement, trying to settle the matter and return to whatever he was discussing with Jon. That wasn't what Bran wanted, however, and he said, "But can you be brave without being afraid?"

Sybel looked over at Bran, when neither Jon nor Robb answered. Both of her older brothers seemed somewhat exasperated—they clearly thought they'd settled the matter, while Bran was not yet convinced. She said simply, "Perhaps it can be both."

Robb snorted and shook his head at her, "That is your answer for everything, sister—you choose neither one way nor the other and instead insist that it is both, even when the very nature of each option contradicts the other."

Arya's groaning continued as she stabbed at the food in front of her, but Sybel barely paid it any mind as she frowned at her brother, trying to explain the point she was making. Sybel often found that things did not have to be one or the other, and Bran's question was no different. "But what if being afraid makes you brave, and then the bravery eliminates the fear and makes you unafraid?"

Bran nodded slowly at this, like what she was saying could be possible, while Robb continued to appear un-swayed with her suggestion. "But if you're no longer afraid, then there is no reason to be brave."

Sybel frowned at his words. Bran's questions always provided a source of concentrated conversation that required plenty of focus. And if nothing else, this particular question provided an adequate escape from her own thoughts, which she was not adverse to in the slightest. However, her concentration on the matter of bravery meant she missed a lot of important cues in her environment.

She missed the way Sansa seemed tenser that morning as she stared at the door—Sybel had heard that Arya had flung food at her during the feast and embarrassed her in front of the prince, so Sybel suspected she was anxious to see if the prince thought any different of her. She missed the way Arya seemed particularly grouchy and grumpy—the late night meant she had less sleep, and she was not the most pleasant of people first thing of a morning to begin with. Particularly though, she missed the way Sansa's grip progressively got tighter and tighter around her cutlery, her knuckles going white, and the way Arya continued on and on about how being a girl was worse than being a boy.

If she had not been so absorbed in their conversation, she might not have missed those signs, and she would've been able to prevent it.

But she didn't, and instead Sansa's high pitched shriek sliced through their conversation. "ARYA! WILL YOU _SHUT UP_?"

All eyes turned to Sansa as her chest heaved in anger, bright spots of red adorning her cheeks as she sent a particularly venomous glare at their youngest sister. Sybel hurriedly opened her mouth to smooth it over and calm her down, before it got any worse, "Sansa—"

She was not fast enough.

"_You_ shut up," Arya spat at her sister in reply, the grumpy, grouchiness of the morning disappeared from her face to be replaced with anger. "All you did last night was act like a stupid _girl_ and talk about how _handsome_ the Prince is."

"Arya—" Sybel tried to intervene, but she was cut off. She stared wide-eyed at her younger sisters, nervously wringing her fingers. She hated when they fought, and when they yelled and screamed at each other. She hated when they were cruel to each other.

Arya pitched her voice higher in a poor imitation of Sansa. "Oh Jeyne, isn't Prince Joffrey just _so_ handsome? Look at his pretty golden hair! Jeyne, don't you think Prince Joffrey and I would have beautiful babies? Jeyne, look at how—"

"Shut up!" Sansa screamed, standing upright at the table, two patches of red spotting her cheeks in embarrassment as Robb chuckled at Arya's impersonation. He usually didn't get involved in his youngest sisters' fights unless their mother forced him to break it up, but he often found Arya's antics amusing, and so he laughed and it really didn't help at all. "Why do you have to _ruin everything_?"

The tightening around Arya's eyes and mouth were the only indication that Sansa's words had hurt her. Sybel winced, standing up as well and holding her hands out in a calming gesture. "Sansa, Arya, _please_—"

But they weren't listening to her—they were far too enraged at each other to take any notice of the way Sybel's wide eyes flicked rapidly between them, or the way her hands clenched and unclenched at the fabric of her dress. And then she started to panic a little.

"You're so _stupid_," Arya spat at her sister in reply, an ugly frown marring her face. She hadn't even been outside yet, and still it seemed like the girl was permanently covered in dirt smudges. "Who _cares_ what the Prince thinks of you?"

"I care!" Sansa shrieked heatedly. Even angry, Sansa kept the graceful arc of her neck upright, her chin pointed in the air. "I care what my future husband thinks of me!"

She couldn't stop their yelling, she couldn't stop them from shouting cruel words at each other. Sansa and Arya were different—Sybel knew, she saw it every day, in the way they did everything. Sansa glided, Arya barreled; Sansa frowned, Arya scowled; Sansa was delicate, Arya was wild. So Sybel was well aware of that, and she was well aware that they fought. Often. Mostly, though, Sybel could diffuse it—she could cut across them, remind them they were sisters and had to love each other, and fix it. But there were those times when Sybel could not stop it, when she could barely get a word in between their insults and screams, and she was left feeling utterly useless. Like now.

"Father hasn't agreed to anything—Joffrey probably doesn't even want you to be his wife, you're so stupid!"

"At least _I've_ had an offer—no one would want you to be their wife! You're practically as feral as that wolf of yours!"

They were still fighting, and Sybel had become sort of frozen-like in her position, sitting on the wooden bench. Arya's small, somewhat dirty hand darted to the plate in front of her, grabbing an apple and lobbing it at Sansa's head. Sansa shrieked and ducked, but it was only a short distance across the table, so the apple bounced off her shoulder and rolled across the stone floor. "_Nymeria is not feral!_"

"Yes she is! And so are _you_!"

"Listen to me!" Sybel shouted, her voice louder than it usually got, and it was enough to make them look at her for a second in surprise. She was breathing heavily, as though she had run from one side of Winterfell to the other. She needed them to listen, before one of them said something truly awful, something they'd regret later, something that would really hurt the other. "Just listen to me, _please_. Both of you need to stop this, right now. You're _sisters_, you shouldn't—"

"No," Sansa snapped, her petite frame shaking in anger, as she ignored Sybel again. The Tully blue of Sansa's eyes was suddenly like ice as she coldly looked Arya over, her upper lip twisting as though she had assessed her younger sister and found her lacking. "I wish you were not my sister."

Something like that.

Sybel froze, eyes wide, her mouth parting.

Arya lunged at Sansa.

She was their older sister; it was her job, when they fought, to remind them that as much as they were different, they _were_ sisters and they _did_ also love each other, but they wouldn't listen. This fight was silly and petty, and they _wouldn't listen_. And now Sansa's words were out there, and she could scarcely believe she'd said them, no matter how angry she was, no matter how much Arya irritated her. She'd said it. And it felt, suddenly, like their words were directed at _her_. They weren't, but Sybel felt every insult and barbed screech as though they _were._ Every stupid comment that hurt Sansa, every angry word that cut at Arya, she felt them all, and she had no idea what she could do to fix it. She needed to fix it—she needed the creeping, panicky feeling to stop crawling over her skin, like it always did when people she loved were fighting, she needed her breathing to relax from the shallow, quiet gasps—but she didn't know _how_.

And that was, perhaps, the worst of it. That she didn't know how, and so all she could do was watch them—and see the hate shining in their eyes and the angry, twisted snarls of their mouths—and listen to them—and hear how strongly they truly despised each other in that moment, how badly they wanted to _hurt_ each other—until she couldn't take it.

Until their words cut at her skin like knives would, and their anger sliced at her heart to let her bleed out and their cruel—so very _cruel_—words blocked her throat and made it hard to breath, choking her. And their need to hurt and cause pain danced over her skin and overwhelmed her until she was shaking and panicked and finding it hard to think of anything else, until she was overwhelmed and to the point that she could just not cope with it at all.

Until her legs moved into action, without any kind of command from her, without her even thinking about it, and she jumped up from the bench. She jumped up, needing to move away, to get away and perhaps stay away, and she wondered how the morning could have started so serenely but ended like this, and she was left feeling a little deceived as well. She swayed just slightly on her feet, her head light and making her unbalanced, and vaguely Sybel noted that she hadn't taken a breath in a while, but she couldn't seem to move anything to actually let her take another breath.

She just needed to get away. And so she did.

Right before she turned away, she saw Robb and Jon jump up, to try to stop their fight—and Sybel figured that her leaving meant that their fight had gone for long enough without intervention, and that was why they were doing so now. But it didn't stop her steps, because Sybel still needed to get away and she couldn't really explain it, even to herself, why she was acting as though they were fighting with _her_. But her heart was stuttering in her throat, and breathing was near impossible around that lump, and that suffocating, tingly feeling was still crawling over her flesh and making her uncomfortable and prickly and heated in her own skin. Her shoulders tensed and her eyes stung, and still all she could think was to get away from the accusatory words and hostile glares her sisters threw at each other.

When she made it to the wooden door, she barley paused, pushing it open so forcefully that the heavy door swung around and hit the stone wall on the other side with a loud _crack_. It echoed across the courtyard and Sybel felt the reverberations in her toes, through her shoes.

She forced herself to breathe properly, raking the air down her throat as though she'd been starved of it for too long, but she wasn't far enough away yet, and she needed to move.

Tiny tremors ran along her arms, her fists clenched, and she turned to walk—she wasn't entirely sure where, at this point, the only thing she wanted was _distance_—away. She almost didn't notice Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime standing by the door, watching her closely, and she had to blink rapidly to push back the sudden tears that threatened to slide down her cheeks. She did not want to cry in front of them—she did not want to cry at all—but with their eyes so focused on her, after her efforts to make Sansa and Arya listen to her, it seemed a punishing kind of irony that she had the undivided attention of these two Lannisters, one of whom she most certainly did not wish to speak with at that moment.

She dipped into a quick, awkward curtsey, "Lord Tyrion, Ser Jaime."

And then her throat closed up and she was sure that if she said another word, she was not entirely sure she would have any kind of control over the words that would pour out. She darted past, not giving them any kind of chance to reply and draw her into a conversation.

She walked blindly, her feet guiding her, and leading with purpose though she had no clue to where. All she did know was that every step further away from the hall, the tightness of her back lessened just a little. And that was all she sought right then.

**As always, I hope you enjoyed the chapter—let me know what you thought! More to come on Sybel's habit of running away in the next chapter. **


	7. Chapter Six

**A/N: So, I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update! Unfortunately, university makes consistency nearly impossible for me, so I can't promise any regular updating, but I hope you guys will enjoy the chapters when they do manage to make it out.**

**But**** I have implemented a new strategy to (hopefully) help with my terrible updating skills! I have created a tumblr account, for all my fanfiction stories (this is very exciting for me, because I really have no idea what I'm doing haha)! So if you have tumblr, go follow me (the link is in my profile (I'm **its-a-passionfanfic**)) so you can get chapter sneak peeks, progress reports, gif images, and apparently there's this "ask me anything" option, so you guys can ask me anything! This is so exciting, it seems like a much better platform to communicate with you guys! **

**A massive THANK-YOU to my beautiful reviewers for last chapter; you guys kept me adding little bit and little bit to this chapter when I should've been studying, haha! (replies to guest reviewers at the end! If I've missed anyone, please let me know! You guys are the best)**

_—Evaline101, Monkey. Gone. To. heaven, MADStar529, LucyRider17, highwayblues1, KatieGG, Anastasiagrey, JoannaJacobs, random, Emily, Lilo23, Lioness32, leela, shika93, mdeanna—_

...

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Six_

...

The Godswood was silent. It was almost eerie, Sybel thought, but she did not know where else to go that would afford her the same chance of solitude. The castle was always busy, people bustling from one spot to another, and her chambers would be the first place anyone would look for her. She just needed a moment to herself.

She knew her father liked the Godswood, liked the solace he found there, but it had always seemed… _cold_ to her. There was an old, earthy musk that settled in the air, and the trees, fat and mossy, had roots that were embedded deep in the soil, connected to the very beginning. The Godswood was different to the forests her and Benjen rode through outside Winterfell—that forest was lively, it was _younger_. The Godswood was ancient and thick, it was sacred land, it was _worshiped_ land, and there was a density to it that made it seem dark and strong and wild. The trees had been there for many ages.

She couldn't figure out what it was exactly that seemed to stop her from feeling completely at ease among the old gods her ancestors prayed to. Perhaps it was because she walked among the trees idly, rather than falling to her knees in reverence. She did not go there to pay homage to her gods, but hummed among the trees and felt the old life tingle her skin, and perhaps they shunned her for that. She did not know.

But she thought it was the weirwood tree, the heart tree, though, that caused her the most unease. Or specifically, it was the face carved into the primordial wood. It seemed to watch her closely, and Sybel did not like to be watched. She preferred to do the watching.

So she avoided the heart tree, and instead ambled along the path slowly in the opposite direction until she came across a small pond, not daring to wander along much further. The Godswood was massive and uncontrolled—she could not be sure she would not find herself off the path and lost among those eerie trees. She landed with a soft thud on the crisp grass, pulling her knees up to her chin, her hand smoothing over the cold morning dew until her fingers were numb, all the while ignoring the feeling of a thousand prying eyes like pressure on her skin.

She took a deep breath, her lungs filling. Even the air felt old. And then she let her breath out in a rush and fell back on the grass, her auburn curls fanning around her face, her legs curled to the side, blinking wet lashes up at the thick canopy. Only a few rays of light made it through the thick foliage, but it was enough. She hoped her coat was thick enough so that the dampness of the ground wouldn't seep through to her bones.

Her fingers continued to smooth through the cold grass as her mind whirled, and the physical, burning sting in her hand helped to split her attention enough to ease her torrent of thoughts. But those world continued to go around and around in her mind.

_I wish you were not my sister._

Those words were more hurtful than anything else—more hurtful than the insults and the physical blows, and more than the embarrassment and hostility. Both her sisters were guilty of saying things they did not mean with the intent to wound, far too often than Sybel could handle, but this was a new one. This was a new blow, it was uncharted territory for them, wishing they were not related. It had caught Sybel off guard, unawares, and she was still trying to let her rebelling mind adjust to the harshness of their new tactic. But there was still a stabbing in her gut and she still felt sick.

Words were far too powerful, she thought. They carried too much weight, too much control, an ability to hurt and cut at people, and her sisters, _her sisters_, seemed to want to use them against each other. They fought far too often, and it pained Sybel, and yet they fought knowing this too. She tried to hide it, tried to veil her expressions when they did, pretending that her eyes were not stinging as she held back tears—tears she knew were silly and overemotional, but the hurt she felt was real and no less painful than a physical blow—and that her heart did not feel like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. She tried as best she could, but there were times, like this morning, when she could not pretend that everything was okay, and her mask would slip, her façade would crumble, and they would see it. But it didn't stop them; sometimes it slowed them for a moment, but they would continue later, when Sybel was not around to see it. And Sybel just needed them to stop, needed them to realize what they were doing to each other, what they were doing to _her_.

Sometimes, she thought herself selfish, because she could never tell whether she wanted them to stop fighting because they were hurting each other, or because they were hurting her. And then her chest would continue to tighten and her gut would roil and she would feel worse because it must've been for herself that she tried to intervene. But then, she knew as well how much their fights hurt her sisters, and the last thing she wanted to see was her sisters hurt. If only they would _listen_ to her.

She shook her head and closed her eyes, breathing deeply again and trying to settle her thoughts. It would not do to dwell on them, as she knew she did often—she would only work herself up. She just needed a moment, she supposed. A moment to herself. Her sisters did not mean what they said—they were words said in a fit of anger and embarrassment. They did not _truly_ mean it, and she was, again, acting like a small child who cried over silly things.

"Sybel."

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, wishing she could've had longer. These moments by herself were peaceful, if she discounted her tempest of thoughts. When she sought out a place to go to be by herself, those times were more serene. But then, she supposed, even if she liked the time alone, she also liked being around people too much to stay away any longer anyway.

"Sybel," she heard Jon's voice call to her again, and she sighed, keeping her eyes squeezed shut.

"I'm not ready to go back yet, Jon."

He had no reply for a moment, and she heard the soft rustle of his clothes as he laid down beside her. Her lips twitched at his presence, a wave of comfort hitting her. She loved Jon dearly, just as much as her full brothers, and even more in moments like these. After a minute of just lying there, he said, "Your mother is looking for you. She says you're supposed to be at your lessons."

Or at least, that must've been what Jon had heard her mother saying to someone else, because Lady Catelyn Stark would never willingly speak directly to her husband's bastard. And that thought only made her aching stomach feel worse, because she could scarcely believe that anyone could not love the people she loved, and especially not Jon.

Her eyes cracked open and slid sideways to look at him. His Stark eyes, the exact same steely grey as hers, were watching her closely, and she was hit with an unsettling feeling of seeing herself. She wondered if it unsettled him too. "Do I have to go?"

He stared at her for a few moments, before sighing and looking up at the trees. "You can't hide out here forever, Sybel."

His words hovered between them, and she frowned, sitting up and looking at him curiously. "Is that what you think I am doing?"

"It is what I _know_ you are doing." He sat up and mirrored her position. His eerily similar eyes watched her closely, shining with an intelligent, knowing light and she supposed that all the times he was silent and let himself slip into the background were also the times when he really _saw_ more than most. When she just continued to stare at him, he added, "you're always there, diffusing trouble and conflict—you _avoid_ it. And when you can't handle it, when you can't break it up, you run away and hide and wait for it to get better or you pretend the problem doesn't exist."

Sybel blinked, her mouth dropping open slightly as she looked away to the grass, thinking on his words. Sybel knew she walked around in her own world sometimes—a world where things were bright and happy and _good_. She had been told it enough times by her family to believe it. And she knew she shied away from hard truths, and the gritty, ugly aspects of the world that didn't match with the idea in her head of what it should be like. Of what it _could_ be like, if people spent their time and energy trying to amicably coexist with each other than trying to hurt each other, betray each other, _hate_ each other.

It wasn't that she didn't know this, because she did. What she didn't realize though, was how much her need for everything to be good permeated her behaviours, until right then. She tended to run away from conflict, more than she realized. When her siblings fought, she was always the first to try and stop their fighting, but she was also the first to run away when her attempts failed.

"Oh," she said softly, and she looked back up at Jon. It was just easier to see the kindness and the beauty and the good in people. It was easier to think she could pick beautiful flowers for her sisters without needing an escort because there was someone who wanted to hurt her, wanted something from her she wasn't going to give. A sheepish smile twisted half of her mouth up, "it's not very brave of me, is it?"

She wasn't as strong as Robb or Jon and she didn't cope as well with bad news as they, or Sansa or Arya, did. And even Bran who had only just witnessed his first execution had done better than she. When she was younger and had learned what her father had to do to carry out the King's justice, she had cried; she had cried for her father having to do such a thing and she had cried for the stranger about to die. She was different from her siblings.

He shrugged, eyeing her carefully. After a pause, his eyes locked on her face seriously, and he muttered in his low voice, "you're brave when you want to be."

Sybel knew he was just trying to make her feel better though. "I'm just not as strong as the rest of you."

"There's nothing wrong with that Sybel," he said gently and she smiled at her sweet brother. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest, mumbling that she loved him, and trying not to think about how characteristically un-Stark-like it was of her to be so emotionally expressive.

* * *

Princess Myrcella was no better or worse at needlepoint than Sybel, but from the way Septa Mordane praised her, one might think she was perfect. Sybel did not particularly care; she knew she was an adequate sewer, and the shy happiness the princess displayed every time she received such praise was not something Sybel wanted to take away. Arya on the other hand, Sybel had noticed, found this frustrating beyond belief, and had lasted barely an hour before she threw her project down and stomped out like the angry storm cloud she was.

Septa Mordane's eyes locked with Sybel's in a grimace, and she immediately understood the meaning. It was not the first time she had been sent after her youngest sister to collect her and then return her to her lessons, and so with a practiced ease, Sybel stood and curtsied to the princess. "Princess Myrcella. We're all very pleased to have you here."

The gold hair girl smiled shyly at Sybel in gratitude, and so Sybel grabbed her fur-lined coat and left the heated room in search of Arya. Sybel liked to think she knew her sister well enough to know where she'd go first, and so Sybel hurried along to the practice courtyard where the men would be training for the day, eyes roaming around and seeking out a short, irritated girl with dirt perpetually smeared on her face.

In the courtyard, a large gathering of men had formed a circle around the edge, jeering and yelling as they watched the different fights take place. Sybel couldn't see anything over them, and wondered if Arya had pushed her way to the front of the crowd. She would have no problem doing that, she knew; if Arya wanted to watch, then she would, but she would do it from the best seat in the house. She glanced at the crowd; she could probably slip between the large bodies easily, she was so quick on her feet. And considering she was too short to be able to see anything properly, with so many men congregated in the yard, she might have done just that.

Sybel frowned, pulling her coat around her tighter against the cold. The men to the back of the crowd began to notice her then, grinning and nudging those next them to get their attention too. One of them, in Lannister red and the lion House symbol, grinned down at her. For a reason she couldn't pin down, she did not particularly like the way he smiled at her. "Would the little lady like a better seat to view the fighting from?"

Sybel smiled at him, ignoring how calling her little only highlighted to her how much smaller she was in comparison to these men with their broad shoulders and corded muscle from years spent training, and instead noted how his hair was not quite the spun gold she had become accustomed to from a Lannister. It seemed to hover between gold and brown. "No, thank you Ser."

He took a step away from the circle of men watching the sparring, and closer to her, tilting his head to the side. His mouth widened, but she wasn't sure it was in a smile so much as it was to bare more teeth, and Sybel thought perhaps he was trying to scare her, just a little, though the notion didn't make much sense. Why would he _want_ to scare her? "Then what are you doing here, if I may ask, my lady?"

"I am looking for my sister—have you seen her?" Sybel frowned. "She is about this tall and—"

"Lady Sybel?" A surprised voice cut her off and she glanced over to find Jory hurrying towards her, his brow creased in worry. Sybel's lips twisted into a smile of relief as he approached. "I was just about to go looking for you. Lady Arya is here and won't let me take her back to her lessons. She shouldn't be here, my lady, though," he paused for a second, raising an eyebrow at her, "neither should you—your mother will not be happy."

Whenever Jory encountered a problem with one of her sister's, either Arya misbehaving or Sansa doing something she shouldn't (though, that was a rather rare occurrence) or when they started to fight, rather than disturbing her father and mother, he came looking for her instead, to deal with the problem first. Even problems with Rickon or Bran, he seemed to come to her first. And Sybel thought it might be because, when her siblings weren't in a rage, she handled them well enough to calm the situation down and return everything to normal without needing her mother or father to intervene.

Sybel placed her hand on his arm in a not-to-worry gesture, shaking her head, "I am only here to collect my rogue sister, Jory, I promise." He nodded easily, neither of them even noticing anymore how she dropped his formal title of ser and instead used his name in an affectionate manner. She had known Jory for so long, that she had a habit of dropping his title in familiarity, and he never said anything against it. "Where is the little—" she pursed her lips before grinning at Jory, "—_vagabond_?"

He grinned and pointed up to a window in the small tower overlooking the courtyard, and Sybel followed his gaze up to find her sister sitting on the window, her feet dangling over as she viewed the sparring partner below with enthusiasm. Sybel shook her head and sighed, and began to work her way around the outer courtyard to get to the stairs of the tower, ascending them as quickly as she could without falling over the ends of her dress and coat.

When she made it to the top, Arya turned her head around and Sybel threw her a stern look, which only made her younger sister turn back around with a glare, hunching her shoulders and wrapping her arms around herself. She shivered in the cold, and Sybel hurried over, the wooden floor creaking under her weight as she sat on the ledge, her feet firmly braced on the tower floor rather than dangling out in the open, and pulled her sister close to her until Arya's back was pressed to her front and Sybel could wrap her coat around both of them.

Sighing again, she looked down at the courtyard below. Despite the frigid air, the men were sweating from exertion as they trained, wielding swords and shields, the more experienced teaching the less. She said, "you can't just run out like that Arya. _Especially_ when our guest is the princess."

She grumbled under her breath about their Septa and stitches and needlework, and Sybel could guess at the direction of her thoughts easily enough. "What did you _expect_ her to say, Arya?" Sybel hugged her sister tighter to her, arms wrapped around her thin waist, and rested her chin on Arya's shoulder so that when she lowered her voice in an imitation of their Septa's, she could hear it properly, with the rushing wind so loud in their ears. "_Tsk tsk_, princess, you need _much_ more practice than that. I will have to speak with your mother, _the Queen_, and inform her that her daughter is only very adequate at needlepoint."

Arya grumbled some more, though she was sure her scowl lessened, lips twitched. Sybel turned her head, placing a kiss on her sisters cheek and saying seriously, "it was an honour the Queen even allowed our Septa to instruct the princess today."

Arya kept her eyes locked firmly on the courtyard below and Sybel resisted the urge to shake her head. Arya longed too much to join them, to learn swordplay and archery, and to run and roll in the dirt. She gave her sister a moment longer to watch, standing up, though trying to keep the ends of her coat wrapped around her sister's slim shoulders. When she was about to tell her that it was time to go back, for her to apologise to the princess and remain there for the rest of her lesson, she was distracted suddenly by a flash of gold, and the words dyed in her throat.

Jaime Lannister was training, sparring with another man she didn't know, and he looked so completely comfortable with a blade in his hand that she stood there, rooted to her spot, transfixed. He brought his sword down on his opponent, who flew backwards from the force, his shield flying away, and the tip of his sword soared down to hover over the man's neck as he lay sprawled in the dirt.

Then he removed his sword, exchanging words with the other man and laughing as he helped his opponent to his feet, swinging his arms about in a loosening movement before dropping into a ready stance. He lunged at his opponent in a startlingly fast movement, the sword an extension of his arm, his motions fluid. And there, in the surety of his strokes and blocks, there was a dangerous kind of precision. He shifted on his feet, agile and graceful, and every time his sword hit his opponent, Sybel was sure there would be bruises left behind.

There was a flawless, practiced control to his movements as he baited his opponent into moving one way or another, and Sybel couldn't help noticing the likeness in his swordplay to how he had conversed with her. His blows and strikes seemed to be just as well thought-out and precise as everything he said, hitting their desired mark perfectly and inducing the exact reaction he expected to garner from his attack, if the self-satisfied grin he wore was anything to go by.

He had the other man sprawled in the dirt again after five hammering blows, the clang of steel on steel sending vibrations up her back even from this distance, and he paced a little, swinging his arms about again to get rid of the lingering reverberations running up his arms. And then, as though he felt her puzzled gaze, his eyes swept up to lock on her and she froze. A heated blush worked its way over her skin at having been caught staring.

The golden strands around his face clung to his skin, damp with sweat, and his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His eyes had become a vivid, burning green, the colour brightened by the physical activity, and Sybel thought she had never seen such beautiful, dangerous eyes before.

And then his lips curled into a cocky, arrogant smirk at having caught her staring at his impressive display of swordsmanship, at having made the red flush spread over her cheeks. And very purposefully, fueled by the blood pounding through his body in a heady rush and his light, victorious mood, he winked at her.

Her eyes widened in shock, body flinching in surprise, and his smirk only grew when she blushed harder. She averted her gaze, suddenly extremely uncomfortable being under his burning green one, and she frowned, her eyes dropping to the stone floor, her mind darting back to their conversation last night and how he liked to provoke people. Irritation flashed through her at this, at his brazen, bold move, and the sudden knowledge that he did it simply to make her react as she did made her huff in annoyance. She was not his opponent; she did not want to be purposefully baited into a reaction.

She didn't understand why he did it; she had done nothing to him, and yet he seemed intent on making her uncomfortable. On making her feel like she needed to shift on her feet and get away from him, even as she felt the urge to move closer, to learn more and push aside his wall to show her something real, settle in her chest.

Even as she turned away, tugging on Arya's arm to get her sister to follow, she felt the Lannister's arrogant expression follow her and remain on her until she was out of sight, moving down the winding stairs. After a reluctant moment, Arya followed, but not before she frowned over her shoulder, looking at the practice yard and then at her older sister's red face, asking, "did the Kingslayer just _wink_ at you?"

"Of course not," Sybel tried to laugh, but the sound was uncomfortable and weak, and the blush on her cheeks did not die down despite the cold air. "And don't call him that."

"Why not?" She demanded, in the obnoxious way some haughty children had. "Everyone else does."

Sybel frowned at her, and the younger girl wilted somewhat under her disapproving gaze. Softly, she implored, "It is not a nice name and just because everyone else calls him that, doesn't mean _you_ should."

"But he _did_ kill the king," Arya insisted, her statement almost a question, like she thought no one had told her the full truth about anything and so maybe she did not really know what she thought she knew.

"Yes," Sybel said, looking straight ahead and staring unseeingly at the walls of her home, the yelling from the courtyard getting quieter and quieter the further she moved away. "He killed the king and broke his oath and so everyone calls him Kingslayer because of it." Then she looked back down at her younger sister seriously, "But they call him that behind his back—how would you feel, if people called you names behind _your_ back?"

Arya frowned, watching her feet pass over the grey stones as they walked back to their lesson room, and said no more on it.

* * *

**A/N: So... what did you think of Jaime's _audacity_, winking at her like that? That scoundrel. But there was some lovely sibling bonding moments, which were fun to write - what did you think of those? Are there any sibling moments you'd like to read in particular?**

**Any thoughts?**

**Guest review replies (you guys are awesome)-**

**Anastasiagrey: **Thank you so much, I love that you're liking my story! Sybel is so adorable, being all innocent and all, she makes it too easy for Jaime to be the way he is! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you liked this update!

**random: **Haha you're right, I went back to check and in Chapter 4 I was spelling Jaime as Jamie! How embarrassing - I'll go fix that ASAP, thanks so much for pointing it out to me (I hope if I do it again, you'll point it out to me then, too!) Thank you so much though, I like that you think my story is going well so far. I've tried to make her realistic and flawed - she's not very brave and she's really a dependent kind of person, so I'm glad you think it's coming across, and I'm glad you think the characterization is mostly right :) I hope you enjoyed this update too!

**emily: **Here you go :) Hope you liked it!

**Lilo23: **Gah, I know, I'm sorry! I'm terrible at regular updating (curse you university), but I hope you enjoyed this update despite the long time it took getting to you! :) And thanks so much for reviewing again!

**leela: **Hi! Thank you so much! I love that you're liking my story so far and the way I've made the characters! Haha, I wish there was more Jaime in it too, but it's too soon haha! As the chapters progress, I hope to add more and more Jaime in, so I hope you'll like those moments! Thanks so much for taking the time to leave me a review! :)

**And I hope that's everyone!**

**But guys, get this - there are 207 FAVOURITES AND 354 FOLLOWERS FOR THIS STORY OH MY GOD THAT'S AMAZING, YOU GUYS ARE SO AWESOME! Like seriously, that's so many people wanting an update for this story and then liking it enough to favourite it, I never expected to have so many people liking this!**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Enjoy! :)**

…

Forgive My Sins

_Chapter Seven_

…

They feasted every night, with music and delicious food and loud conversation, though none with the same kind of formality as the Welcome feast, and for the most part, Sybel had managed to avoid him.

The ease with which he had winked at her from the training grounds, in front of the other men—though she was sure no one had really seen, as they were all too busy watching the different simultaneous sparring matches—made her worry that he would do it again, in front of the crowd in the hall and almost everyone she knew. In front of her _father_. And she was sure no good would come from her lord father's knowledge of the way the man known as _Kingslayer_ behaved towards his sweetest, most expressive daughter.

A whole week passed, and she almost always seemed to find a way out of any kind of confrontation or conversation with that particular Lannister, as she encountered him only twice during this time. So in all, she thought she had become particularly adept at circumventing any situation that might prove to place her in his presence and so her heightened awareness at the start of the week had shifted to complacency by the end in that she no longer actively avoided him. Though, she supposed it was not particularly hard—she had no real reason to speak with him, and he had no real reason for seeking her out, so it involved no special skills of avoidance because there was no cause for them to be in each other's company in the first place. And so she had thought that it would be easy.

It wasn't though, when his eyes were not so easily avoided. Nor the way they settled on her with the intent to make her uncomfortable—it was becoming their theme, she thought. He seemed so committed to making her uneasy around him. It was odd to her, for the people of Winterfell she knew—granted, she did not know all that many—did not behave in such a way. But he did.

On the first night after his wink and her subsequent determination to avoid him, she had thought she was losing her mind, for she felt the burn of eyes on her as someone watched her intently and she would twist and turn about, searching through the crowd. But she couldn't find the owner, and it confused her just how elusive they were proving to be—surely she should've been able to find who it was? There were not so many people in the hall that one could be quite so easily overlooked.

It wasn't until she noted how she felt the need to shift on her feet when those eyes stuck to her, that she began searching for him. She hadn't even considered him to be the source—really, he was much more audacious than she thought anyone could be—until finally steel grey met emerald green, and she thought perhaps she should have guessed it from the start.

When she had uncovered the source of the stares, she had hid her reaction behind polite smiles, as though she was oblivious to his intent, and she sensed that frustrated him. She couldn't really figure out why this made a small contented, triumphant pleasure settle in her chest.

That triumph slowly wilted though, for her polite reactions only seemed to make him more persistent, and every night she had to endure his gaze and pretend not to notice. She was an awful pretender and she guessed he saw through her act, but she was courteous—she had been taught by the most persistent Septa she'd met—so while she would tense up, or blush, she wouldn't acknowledge it.

On the first instance where she encountered him during the week, it was the third night. She was in the middle of a conversation with her eldest brother and had felt his eyes find her again, and she'd thought she couldn't take much more. It wasn't just that his observation of her was persistent, it was that it was the kind of scrutiny she didn't like—the kind that examined her carefully and seemed to know more than she thought she was letting on. It bothered her because _she_ preferred to be the one who saw more.

Not only that though. She had thought that if that was all there was to it, it would not be so bad and she would not give him the satisfaction. (Because his staring was decisive and he wanted her to know it too.). But his scrutiny also made her skin… _hot_. The way his eyes—from across the room, they were like green fire—stuck on her so closely, so purposefully that he actually made her skin tingle. His focus on her, ignoring anyone else around him simply to watch her heated her skin. Her heart would race and her breathing would become irregular and her brain would circle around the fact that of everyone in the hall, he was fixated on _her_.

And she disliked in those moments that he was so very handsome.

The tingling made her uncomfortable, the way it travelled around her body and lingered in her gut, but especially because she was sure she shouldn't feel it. Certainly not from him just staring at her and certainly not because it was _him_ doing the staring. She thought maybe he knew just how it affected her and that was why he did it.

She finished her conversation with her brother and reached for her cup of wine. Their father permitted them the one cup at feasts and usually Sybel would drink it slowly. She did not enjoy the taste, nor the lingering after taste, but she enjoyed the way it warmed her body and made her feel light and bubbly. But that night, she downed the cup of liquid to distract herself, just to have something to do, and she stood up, hoping to disappear in the crowd. She just wanted him to stop, wanted the tingling to stop.

It was a foolish decision, she knew almost as soon as she'd drunk the wine that it was, because she felt a newfound kind of courage fill her chest and she thought, instead of waiting him out until she no longer reacted to his staring, confronting him was a _much_ better idea. And so she had made her way through the hall in the direction she thought he was in.

He seemed to hover in the same spot for most of every night, in the corner that was probably the best place to see everyone from. She'd noticed that he didn't seem one for feasts, and didn't interact with others all that often, though she had seen him conversing with her father and others on occasion. But he was there again, in that same spot, and his head tilted to the side to contemplate her as she made her way over, expression of determination pasted on her face.

"Lady Sybel." He almost sounded surprised. Sybel got right to the point, the wine loosening her tongue just enough that she dropped some of her learned manners.

"You watch me, ser, far too closely for comfort and far too closely than someone of our acquaintance should, and just when I think I'm free of your stare, I feel your eyes press on my skin again." _Hot and intense_. "Why?"

The side of his mouth was lifted in a curious smirk, and he hadn't moved from his position leaning against the wall. Smoothly, lowly, he asked, "did it ever strike you that perhaps I simply _like_ to watch you?"

She stared, her mouth parting a little because she had not been expecting that answer and she had no prepared response. And suddenly she had the feeling that he was just toying with her. "I think… I think you like the unease that settles inside me when you do, far more."

He quirked his lips as if they shrugged. "Perhaps."

She squinted her eyes at him. "Why?"

Maybe he was just bored here, in the north, and wanted something to play with to keep him occupied, and there she was, an almost perfect target; a Stark, a woman, achingly innocent. He considered her then, and his gaze was unblinking, but his next words weren't a reply to her question. In fact, he ignored her question altogether. "Your youngest sister is a wild thing, and your other sister is very beautiful, but you… I would bet everything I own that you have every man here wrapped around your dainty little fingers."

Sybel frowned and looked down at her hands. They were small, her fingers somewhat stubby, more clumsy looking than anything else, like they weren't particularly suited to delicate, dexterous tasks. Perhaps that was why her needlepoint was only very average. "They're not that dainty. And you would lose everything you own if you made that wager."

He shook his head but his eyes never left her. They unnerved her, because she couldn't read them. "But I wouldn't."

Sybel frowned again and made no reply. She didn't know how to respond to his words, didn't know what he was trying to gain from them, and so she just stared at him until she noticed her mother looking in their direction, and she moved away from, deciding to go to bed. A headache was beginning to form and she already regretted deciding to engage him in conversation.

His eyes continued to follow her throughout the rest of the week, though.

* * *

On the second instance, it was the fifth day of the week and she found herself ambling through the markets, her thoughts squarely on the different wares for sale.

Farmers and craftsmen from outside the walls of Winterfell had passed through the gates, and merchants from all across Westeros had travelled the roads, wagons loaded with their goods. Fruits and breads and pastries, fabrics and trinkets and jewelry, wine and animal skins, ointments and cosmetics. They set up stalls, those wares on display, and Sybel wandered through, Inferno close at her heels. The multitude of sights and smells and people moving about provided plenty of stimuli for the pup, and she darted about quickly, exploring as much as she could. She always came back though, checking in with Sybel before scurrying away again.

Sansa and their mother had stopped at Ilia's stall, considering the different fabrics so that Sansa could sew another dress. Sybel had made funny faces at the woman's daughter, the little girl who had tangled her fingers in Sybel's hair, before she continued on through the markets. She knew from experience how long it would take her mother and sister to choose the right fabric; it was something they bonded over—they barely even noticed she was gone. Arya had disappeared amongst the crowd a while ago.

Many people came to the markets to trade and buy, and the owners of the goods were shouting about them to passerby's. Men held up fruit, declaring the juicy sweetness of _their_ fruit to be better than their rival fruit sellers; women claimed special properties of their lotions and ointments that would produce soft skin for any user; prices were shouted over the chatter of the crowd. It was a rather lively gathering and it made Sybel content just to walk through the middle of it.

Sybel paused in her strolling when she passed a stall filled with baked pastries and cakes. There was a baker in the kitchens of Winterfell, who made the lemon cakes Sansa so loved, but this vendor she knew made the most delicious cherry pies she had ever tasted, and when his familiar face was turned in her direction, she grinned. "Willem!"

The man jerked in surprise, eyes darting down to her face before recognition filled his own face. He smiled and almost immediately reached for one of the little cherry pies. "Milady, how do you fare on this cold morning? I take it you'll be wanting one of them pies then?"

"Am I so predictable?" Even as she replied her breath formed white puffs around her face and she let out a short laugh. He grinned at her, wrapping the pie in thin sheets of baker's paper, making barely a whisper of noise. "How are Danya and Myger?"

Willem smiled proudly. His wife Danya had just given birth to a strong little boy a few years ago when Sybel first met Willem in the markets and discovered the cherry pies, and the little boy had been all the baker could talk about, to anyone who would listen. "Myger has gotten much bigger since you saw him last. Danya spends all day chasing after him."

"I can imagine she must be very tired then," Sybel grinned. She had met the little boy twice, on the occasions Willem had to bring him to the markets with him, and both times Sybel had noted how _wriggly_ the boy was, always trying to run about and play.

"Especially considering she is pregnant again," Willem grinned, tying the coarse string around the wrapped pie. "She told me this morning."

Sybel clapped in delight, "but that is great news! I will pray to the gods for your wife's good health and that your new child will only bless your family more."

"Thank you, milady." He held the pie out to her and she took it, handing him some coins, but he shook his head, his grin displaying his festive mood. "No charge, milady."

Sybel was touched by the kind gesture, but shook her head. "I insist."

She almost worried that in his celebratory mood, he'd give away all his cakes and pastries simply because he was so happy. And as much as she wished it was possible, one could not survive on happiness alone. With another child on the way, they would need every coin they could get. She handed the money over, congratulated him again and wished him well and then she hurried off before he noticed she had given him more coins than what the pie cost.

She conversed with several more people she knew. She laughed with some of the guards who had seen Arya practicing swordplay with the butcher's son, and fell into conversation with fruit sellers about the perfect time to pick certain fruits so that they will be the most ripe. She admired the wares and origins of those wares that the merchants displayed and spent a long time sniffing the different scented oils before purchasing a sweet smelling one that carried a familiar floral undertone, though she racked her memory for the name of the flower and came up empty. She placed it in her basket beside the pie.

She was pursuing the gem-encrusted, delicately curved necklaces when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, a tall body leaning casually against the grey stone wall beside the stall. She froze almost immediately at the flashes of gold and green, before leaning closer to inspect the red gem of a necklace to cover her feedback to his presence—she did not want him to see how he caused her to react. Their last conversation played in her mind. _Perhaps I simply _like_ to watch you. _Did he also simply like to _follow_ her?

"Ser Jaime."

"Lady Sybel," he replied smoothly, and Sybel could practically hear the smirk in his voice, and she wondered if it was because he had managed to catch her unawares, or because he knew she was avoiding him. Both notions would undoubtedly please him and give him cause for that arrogant smirk to lift his lips again. She kept her gaze locked on the gem. "Does your mother always let you wander off on your own?"

"But I am not alone," Sybel said lightly, her eyes flicking up to the stall owner. "Barden is here. He makes the most delicate, beautiful jewelry in all of the north."

His cheeks tinged pink at her words, and she lightly trailed a finger over the necklace she was admiring.

"I mean," the Lannister said, rolling his eyes and shooting the jeweler an unfriendly look, "without an escort."

"I don't need an escort." She didn't know why she didn't want to look at him.

Barden interjected then, his voice a little harsher, a little more determined than she was used to, and she thought maybe her earlier praise gave him encouragement to speak up in the legendary Jaime Lannister's presence. "Half the men here know Lady Sybel and would gladly jump to her defense if she needed it."

"And the other half?" He asked snidely, and her eyes slid to the side to see the irritation on his face at the jeweler's addition to their conversation. The jeweler was posing a challenge to the knight's line of questioning, and he clearly didn't appreciate it, though she certainly did.

She sighed when she could no longer pretend to be inspecting the necklace, and she properly looked up at him. The ends of his golden hair flopped into his eyes on one side of his face because his head was tilted to stare at her. He wasn't dressed in his armour, and so she guessed he wasn't on duty today, and he stood there so casually.

She pursed her lips at him. "The other half are merchants and travellers I've never seen before, but I would think if someone needed help, they would offer some aid."

She smiled at Barden again, and thanked him, wishing him good fortune as another potential customer arrived to admire his jewelry too before continuing on her way. Her eyes roved over the people around her as she noticed the Lannister fell into step beside her, not so close as to appear to be walking with her, but far enough away that it would look as though they were merely walking in the same direction.

When he spoke again she was barely paying him any kind of attention; there was too much to take in at the markets to be able to focus in on any one person for very long. She didn't want to miss anything. But the insult in his tone, the vague, underlying hint of disgust, managed to bring her focus back to him. "If you truly think that's how the world works, you're more naïve than I thought."

She frowned then, and bodily turned to face him in a sharp movement, stopping right in the middle of the market, and he stopped too, surprised. Those walking along behind her had to swerve suddenly to avoid crashing into them, but she was staring at him intently.

She'd had this conversation before, about how she trusted everyone implicitly and didn't see things the way they were—with Robb and Jon and her father, and even Jory, though that conversation had been filled with fewer accusations of naivety and was more like he was trying to prod her towards a realization—and she was in no mood to have it repeated. Especially by someone she barely knew, who had already demonstrated a proclivity for vexation when it came to her. "Perhaps I just prefer to think people are inherently kind."

For a moment, she thought they would descend into an intense staring match in the middle of the markets, ridiculous as it was, because the seconds trickled by and his face remained neutral and blank. But then he spoke and she did not have to worry. "How foolish."

Her mouth twitched in something akin to irritation. "What matter is it to you anyway if I have an escort or not?"

He was quick to answer this time, and the words were delivered with that practiced flourish that she automatically associated with him as being fake and somewhat mocking. "Any good knight would be concerned for a lady's safety."

Somewhere behind them, there was a loud yelp followed by a low growl, and Sybel whistled, never moving her eyes away from the man in front of her. Seconds later, her direwolf was by her side, having lopped over from where she causing mischief. Sybel's fingers smoothed over the fur atop her pup's head. "I am perfectly safe in Winterfell."

The knight eyed Inferno warily before glancing back up at her. "Undoubtedly no one would cause you any kind of harm with your pet by your side."

Sybel laughed lightly and took a step forward to get them moving again, as people were beginning to watch them curiously. Standing in the middle of the walkway like that drew attention to them, making her worry that gossip would spread and word would reach her family of their conversation. And again she felt the need to hide it from them. Aware of prying eyes and ears, she considered her words more carefully than before. "I thank you for your worry about my safety, ser. It is very kind, and you are surely as true a knight as any."

"Do you always speak such pretty words?" He asked, and Sybel could hear the displeasure in his voice. Her septa had taught her to speak charmingly, as a noble lady should, with care and reserve and flattery. She was practiced at it—though Sansa was far better, and Sybel had an annoying habit of slipping in and out of those proper manners—but it seemed that Jaime Lannister did not appreciate it, and she did not know what to make of that.

"Do my pretty words bother you, ser?"

She heard her mother calling to her then, and she turned her head to look over her shoulder to find her. When she glanced back, Jaime Lannister had disappeared into the crowd, and so she went in search of her mother and sister and tried to forget their odd conversations.

* * *

**So… what did you guys think of their conversations? And how are you liking the pace of things? I plan for it to be a nice, long story with a slow-burn, rather intense love affair happening—what do you guys think about that?**

**So I noticed that there was a large drop off in the number of people who reviewed the previous chapter which is really disheartening—did you guys not enjoy the previous chapter as much? I feel like I didn't do as good of a job with it, and I really want to know what it was so I can fix it.**

**But thank you so much to the people who did review! **

_Guest, Mia,MADStar529, lisamariem, LadyBritish, LucyRider17, Joanna Jacobs, Lilo23_

**You honestly have no idea what it means to me that you take the time to leave such beautiful, supportive reviews. I love the reviews that are short and to the point and I love the long, detailed reviews, and you guys just amaze me. I know there are large gaps between updates which I'm really sorry about, but I take my study very seriously, and your reviews honestly keep me adding bit by bit to the chapters in the small amounts of time I do have to write.**

**Guest Review Replies—**

**Guest: **Haha, yes! Sorry it took so long, but I'm super glad you loved the previous chapter. He is most definitely a fiend, and I'm very pleased you like their interactions! Hopefully this chapter satisfied your wish for more of them! :)

**Mia: **That's really how I see her, tbh, so I love you've picked up on it haha! She's far more sensitive than anyone with good sense should be in the GoT world! I hope to write a bit more on Jaime's POV in future chapters, so hopefully you'll still be enjoying this story when I do! :)

**Lilo23: **Haha, your wish is my command. Seriously though, I had plans for that to happen at some point, but not for a long while because I love the build-up, but I'm so stoked you're hoping for it too! I hope you liked this chapter!

**Also, a reminder for anyone interested; I have a tumblr account **(its-a-passionfanfic) **that I'm in the process of figuring out to be able to update you guys about expected ETA's for new chapters, sneak peeks, etc., etc..**


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